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I 


THE TWO COUNTESSES 


THE “ UNKNOWN" LIBRARY 


THE “UNKNOWD” LIBRARY. 

1. MLLE. IXE. By Lanoe Falconer. 

2. STORY OF ELEANOR LAM- 

BERT. By Magdalen Brooke. 

3. MYSTERY OFTHECAMPAGNA 

By Von Degen. 

4. THE FRIEND OF DEATH. 

Adapted by Marv T. Serrano. 

5. PHILIPPA. B>rELLA. 

6. THE HOTEL D’ANGLETERRE. 

Bv Lanoe Falconer. 

7. AMARYLLIS. By rEi 2 PriOS 

AP 02 INH 2 . 

8. SOME EMOTIONS AND A 

MORAL. By John Oliver Hobbes. 

9. EUROPEAN RELATIONS, liy 

Talmage Dalin. 

10. JOHN SHERMAN, and DHOYA. 

By Ganconagh. 

11. THROUGH THE RED-LITTEN 

WINDOWS. By Theodor Hertz- 
Garten. 

12. BACK FROM THE DEAD. By 

Saqui Smith. 

13. IN TENT AND BUNGALOW. 

By An Idle Exile. 

14. THE SINNER’S COMEDY. By 

John Oliver Hobbes. 

75. THE WEE WIDOW’S CRUISE. 
By An Idle Exile. 

16. A NEW ENGLAND CACTUS. 

By Frank Pope Humphrey. 

17. GREEN TEA. By V. Schallen- 

berger. 

18. A SPLENDID COUSIN. By Mrs. 

Andrew Dean. 

19. GENTLEMAN UPCOTT’S 

DAUGHTER. By Tom Cobbleigh. 

20. AT THE T H RES HOLD. By 

Laura Dearborn. 

21. HER HEART WAS TRUE. By 

An Idle Exile. 

22. THE LAST KING OF YEWLE. 

By P. L. McDermott. 

23. A STUDY IN TEMPTATIONS. 

By John Oliver Hobbes. 

24. THE PALIMPSEST. By Gilbert 

Augustin Thierry. 

25. SQUIRE HELLMAN, and Other 

Stories. By Juhani Aho. 

26. A FATHER OF SIX. By N. E. 

POTAPEEKO. 

27. THE TWO COUNTESSES. By 

Marie Ebner Von Eschenbach. 


THE “UNKNOWN" LIBRARY 


THE TWO 

t 

COUNTESSES 



MARIE EBNER VON ESCHENBACH 


TRANSLATED BY 

MRS. WAUGH 


^ Jl'NF S 1893 


NEW YORK 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
104 & 106 Fourth Avenue 


? 2-3 
• E [G5 


Copyright, 1893, by 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


A ll rights reserved. 


THE MERSHOV COMPANY PRESS, 
RAHWAY, N. J. 



THE 

TWO COUNTESSES. 


COUNTESS MUSCHL 

Sebenberg Castle, 

November, 1882. 
HE shooting season is 
over; all our guests have 
left the castle; we are 
as dull as ditch water, 
and I at length have 
time to write to you, dear Nesti. 

Poor Fred, too, has gone. He 
was awfully kind and amusing, 
but woefully unhappy. I am 
truly sorry for him, poor fellow, 
but I cannot help it. His estate 
up in the mountains brings in 
next to nothing; and we could 



2 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


not live upon air, first-rate as it 
seems to be up there. 

But I have something much 
more interesting to tell you about, 
and will plunge you at once in 
milias res — Latin, my love; comes 
from milieu. Where did I pick 
that up? Heaven only knows. 
I am awfully quick at learning, as 
my poor old governess Nagel, 
whom I have brought up, sol- 
emnly avers to this day. 

So, now, prick up your ears! 

Yesterday, while engaged in 
collecting postage stamps — you 
must know that one million 
stamps procures one a little Chi- 
nese baby; no humbug! You 
may trust my word for it, and 
send me a few thousands if you 
happen to have them by you — I 
suddenly came upon one from 
Wiirtemberg. 

'‘Who is our correspondent in 
Wiirtemberg, mamma?” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


3 


“That is a secret,” answers 
mamma, and I see that she is 
burning to tell me. A few min- 
utes later I know all about it. 
As a young man, papa had served 
in the same regiment with a 
Count Aich-Kronburg. Both fell 
in love with the same girl, a 
rich heiress; the Swabian was the 
successful lover, papa the first to 
congratulate him. So they re- 
mained friends. Now their son 
and heir, the young count, is on 
his travels, and is to stop at Seben- 
berg to do the agreeable to papa 
and mamma and — whom else? 
Mamma made me guess, and then 
embraced me, as our mothers have 
a way of doing when they hope 
soon to be rid of us. 

So my probable lord and master 
is a Swabian ! If only I knew 
what he was like, and that he has 
not great clod-hopping feet on 
which to stump off to drink beer 


4 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


with his steward and people 
through the long hours of the 
afternoon ! 

But, oh, my dear girl, after sup- 
per it was so deadly dull that I 
began to think if he had feet like 
an elephant I would accept him ! 
An evening in which we are con- 
demned to our own society, as 
sometimes happens now at Seben- 
berg, is quite too ghastly. Papa 
persuades himself that he is read- 
ing the Sporting Times^ and goes 
fast asleep over it. Mamma knits 
white wraps, the patterns of which 
are decided by the form of her 
cigar ash as it falls. My uncle 
plays tactics with the singing- 
mistress, and Aunt Julia devotes 
herself to word-making with 
Fraulein Nagel. 

“The fifty-seventh word, Frau- 
lein?’’ 

“A village in Servia.” 

“In Servia?’’ 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


5 


“Yes. It begins with a K and 
ends with an E.” 

“Kindly pass me Meyer.” 

“I have looked there, and can- 
not find it.” 

“Then Ritter.” 

And they fall to studying Rit- 
ter. There you have table No. i. 

At table No. 2, at the far end of 
the drawing room, the little ones 
are playing games with the nurs- 
ery governess, and I sit on the 
causeuse in solitary state, betwixt 
youth and age, like Dido upon 
Naxos. 

Dear me! another classical allu- 
sion. You really must overlook 
it; I am so bored I am growing 
quite stupid. My bulldog gives 
a stretch and yawns at me. 

“ Venez^" I say to her, “let us go 
out on to the balcony. Perhaps a 
bat may fly by for our amuse- 
ment.” 

As I gracefully recline upon the 


6 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


parapet I hear a manly tread 
behind me. It is papa. He, too, 
leans upon the balcony, and at 
first says nothing. Then sud- 
denly : 

“Pussy !“ 

“\yhat, papa?’' 

“What are you doing?” 

“Questioning the bats, papa.” 

He laughs. 

“I’ll tell you something, but, 
mind, no chattering.” 

“Oh, no, papa.” 

“You. won’t say a word?” 

“No, pf.pa.” 

He looks straight into my eyes. 
“Nat even to mamma?” And 
then he told me all about the 
young count’s coming visit. 

I merely asked did the Kron- 
burgs keep a racing stud? Papa 
did not know — thought most 
probably not. Alas ! 

Your 

MUSCHI. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


7 


Sebenberg Castle, 
November lo, 1882. 
Dear Nesti : Do ngt be so im- 
patient. I cannot sit all day long 
at my writing table keeping you 
informed as to our doings. We 
are not nearly so far advanced as 
you imagine; there is no talk of 
“congratulations” at present, and 
I beg above all things that you 
will not indulge in sentimentali- 
ties. The name of the fiance — 
how ridiculous you are, child — is 
Carl, like our groom of the cham- 
bers, who, ever since t le count’s 
arrival, has been called by his 
surname. He is not so tall as 
papa, though a very good height, 
and would have quite presentable 
feet if only he had a better boot- 
maker. But he wears square-toed 
boots that are simply hideous. 

He arrived in a kind of cloth 
tunic, which the poor fellow ap- 
parently had made expressly for 


8 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


traveling. I must find out who 
is his tailor, that I may duly 
warn all rny friends against him. 
It is unfortunate, too, that he 
wears gloves like any commercial 
traveler, or one of the jeiinesse 
doree of a German novel. 

Understand from this, Nesti, 
that I have not, by any means, 
made up my mind yet. 

The amusing part of it is the 
intense amiability displayed by 
papa and mamma toward him. 
It is irresistibly funny. Papa 
even kept quite wide awake last 
evening; and he, who usually 
takes no interest in talking to 
people about anything but their 
horses or dogs, began inquiring 
all about the laws of forestry in 
Swabia ; whether land was farmed 
out there; if owners lived much 
upon their estates; what kind of 
hunting there was, et-z-r-a (which 
stands for “and so on.’' I am 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


9 


afraid it is not the right way to 
write it, but, to tell truth, I never 
could do it properly). 

The count answered very nicely, 
only he is rather shy, and that 
gives him a somewhat pedantic 
manner. About nine o'clock it 
began to get decidedly tame, 
when, to my surprise and delight, 
Fred unexpectedly appeared with 
his brother and the two Hock- 
haus. They were on their way 
to the military steeple chase at 
Raigern, and came to beg quarters 
for the night. I at once got up a 
, ■ circus entertainment, sent for a 
I four-in-hand driving whip, and 
I trotted Fred out first as the thor- 
oughbred mare Arabi. It sent us 
into fits to see how he sprang over 
chairs, and backed, and reared, and 
finally picked up my handkerchief 
from the floor with his teeth. 
Then we made Nagel sit down to 
the piano and play a set of qua- 


lO 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


drilles for the four to dance. They 
did it splendidly; they are such 
dear boys. The youngest Hock- 
haus is so good-natured, and he 
really has a face like a horse. At 
last Fred, jumping upon his broth- 
er’s back, introduced himself as 
Mile. Pimpernelle upon her splen- 
didly trained horse Rob Roy. If 
only you could have seen him — 
the coquettish glances he gave, 
his mincing airs, and the farewell 
kisses of the hand he sent back in 
all directions as he was gayly 
trotted off. I never saw anything 
so funny. We were immensely 
amused, papa and mamma as 
much, as any of us. But the 
count looked on stiff as buckram, 
until I thought to myself, ‘'My 
good sir, if you happened to be 
stolen. I’d not be the one to send 
the crier after you.” The best 
thing of all in our circus was when 
the noble steed, having had more 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


II 


than enough of Mile. Pimper- 
nelle’s riding whip, suddenly took 
to rearing and plunging, and rolled 
over with his fair rider. 

We were so overheated from 
laughing that, to cool down, I 
proposed a jeu d' esprit of my own 
invention. The whole company 
sat round a table, a saucer of 
pounded sugar was brought in, 
and each one in turn had to dip 
his nose in it. Then, when all 
were ready, I gave the word — one, 
two, three — and everyone had to 
try to lick away the sugar from 
the tip of his nose. The one who 
did it first was the winner. Oh, 
to see the grimaces and contor- 
tions we made, and how indignant 
my dear old Nagel was, and yet 
had to join in it ! description fails 
me. 

Papa was the first winner, then 
Kuni Hockhaus, then I ; and Fred 
only, with his dear little retrousse 


12 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


nose, could not accomplish it ; he 
was thoroughly beaten, poor fel- 
low! He is such a dear old boy. 

Your 

Muschi. 

Sebenberg Castle, 
November 19, 1882. 

With all due respect be it said, 
my love, you are as pedantic as 
any old bluestocking. Only go 
on in like manner and you will 
soon be eligible for a writer of 
penny dreadfuls. 

I have given you, as yet, no 
description of his personal appear- 
ance? All right; I will ask him 
for his passport ; therein you will 
read : Blue eyes, fair hair, reddish 
mustache, face clean shaven, reg- 
ular features — and you will be 
just as wise as you were before. 
Clumsy? No, that he is decid- 
edly not. His ears are the best 
point about him, small, well 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


13 


shaped, and close set. And dis- 
position? That you needs must 
know, too. Well, good, a trifle 
quiet, with a touch of the grand- 
fatherly in it. But I will mod- 
ernize him, poor fellow. 

I told him the other day that 
the men about us were in the 
habit of getting their hosiery and 
a couple of suits, at least, from 
England every year: and that an 
ill-dressed man was an anomaly 
in society. 

'‘Why?” he asked. “Please 
explain.” 

His simplicity annoyed me, and 
I answered, ‘ The thing is clear 
enough, and needs no explana- 
tion.” 

“Good Heavens!” said he, “if it 
be our clothes alone which fit us 
for society, how highly we should 
esteem those who make them. 
A man ought never to be seen but 
arm in arm with his tailor.” 


14 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


Have you ever heard anything 
so idiotic? Tell me honestly. 

Yesterday we were out with the 
harriers. I, well in front on my 
good Harras, not caring so much 
for the hunt, but enjoying the 
exhilaration of meeting the keen 
wind, when, at a bit of a ditch my 
fool of a horse, hang it ! gathers 
himself for a springs as if he were 
going at a hurdle, and I — Nesti — I 
flew over his head. 

There lay I, and Harras stand- 
ing snorting angrily, and looking 
as if he had never set eyes on me 
before. He seemed not to know 
me, would not believe I was his 
mistress, was ready to tear off 
away from me, and let me limp 
home on foot. 

Nesti, my heart beat wildly. 
Rising very slowly, so as not to 
frighten him I kept saying, 
‘‘Harasserl, quiet, my beauty, it 
was only a joke!” And while he 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


15 


snorted at me I caught hold of 
his bridle, and, looking round, 
saw no one near. Oh, what joy, 
thought I ; led Harras to the bank 
of the ditch, and was just about 
to spring into the saddle, when he 
grows wild again, and gets quite 
unmanageable — and why? He 
hears a horse galloping, and true 
enough, that stupid count must 
needs come dashing up. 

“What has happened, count- 
ess?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” I answer, and turn 
away that he may not see my hot 
cheeks. was only doing some- 
thing to my saddle.” 

“You are all right?” 

“All right.” 

He springs off his horse, and 
without a word holds out his hand. 
I place my foot on it, and suffer 
myself to be lifted on to the 
saddle, and to have the folds of 
my habit straightened, without 


i6 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


the slightest idea of whether he 
has an inkling of what has hap- 
pened. Then, drawing out his 
handkerchief, he begins to wipe 
me down, and now for the first 
time I perceive that I am covered 
with mud from head to foot. You 
may imagine my feelings. Well! 
this done, the count tucks his 
handkerchief into his breast 
pocket and mounts again, and, 
giving Harras a taste of my whip, 
I jump him five times backward 
and forward over the ditch ; not 
where it was dry and narrow, but 
further on, where it broadens and 
is full of water. Then we rode 
quietly along to meet papa. It 
was a long time before I could 
persuade myself to speak; yet it 
had to be, if I were not to feel 
uncomfortable all the rest of the 
day. So at last I said : 

“Please do not tell a soul of 
my fall.” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


17 


Smiling, he answered, “I give 
you my word that I will not 
betray you.” 

So for a moment we were good 
friends, and I absolutely began to 
think whether I would not have 
him after all. But it did not last 
long, and now I think him simply 
detestable. My dear child, he is 
nothing but a pedantic old Ger- 
man schoolmaster. Just listen. 
On our way to the stables I 
suddenly heard a rustling and 
crackling, and among the bushes 
espied a pair of little bare 
feet. 

”A wood stealer!” cried I. 
“Hullo, I must see to that. I’ll 
catch the young rascal!” 

And with a look at the count to 
keep still, I jumped off my horse 
and ran to the opening made by 
the little scamp. True enough, 
in a very short time out crawls 
my man, dragging a whole bundle 


i8 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


of fagots after him. He looks 
up, sees me, screeches like a hare, 
and scampers off as fast as his 
legs will carry him toward the 
village. I fly after him; of course 
soon catch him up; stop, pull 
off his cap, and tell him if he 
wants it again he must come to 
the castle and fetch it. Where- 
upon he whimpers the usual tale; 
begs, entreats, kneels to me, until 
I have enough of it, and throw 
him back his cap. And then 
what do you think he did? With 
a grimace at me, he had the 
impudence to pick up the bundle 
of fagots and make off. I was on 
the point of going after him, to 
give it him hot and strong, when 
up rides the count with a face as 
long as my arm, and has the 
impertinence to say to me: 

'‘You make an excellent 
ranger!’' 

“Is it not customary with you 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


19 


to protect your woods against 
wood stealers?’' I ask. 

'‘Oh, undoubtedly,” he makes 
reply, “but we prefer to leave that 
somewhat subordinate occupation 
to our foresters.” 

When I think it over calmly the 
answer in itself does not appear 
so exasperating; but the way he 
looked at me as he said it, mak- 
ing me feel so uncommonly small. 

Your 

Muschi. 

Sebenberg Castle, 
November 28, 1882. 

We are the best of friends 
again. Our reconciliation was 
effected by means of Rattler and 
the little Chinese boy. You 
must know, Nesti, that ever since 
the count’s arrival papa has been 
more than odd. He who on my 
sixth birthday gave me my first 
pony, and allowed me to have as 


20 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


many dogs as I chose, is now for- 
ever frowning and saying, “Can’t 
you find anything better to talk 
about than horses?” or '‘Where 
on earth can the child have got 
this mania for dogs?” while 
mamma, as she lights a fresh 
cigar, remarks, ‘‘Muschi must 
always go to extremes.” That 
day it was her ninth since lunch. 
Sometimes I amuse myself by 
counting how many she gets 
through in a day. The end of it 
was that when papa heard that 
my English terrier had had pups, 
he declared that he would throw 
every man Jack of them out of 
the window if he caught any of 
them about the castle. So noth- 
ing remained for me but to en- 
sconce the whole family party in 
the library. Not a soul goes in 
there, and the pups are under my 
eye. 

They are such hungry little 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


21 


fellows, and are as comfortable as 
possible in their basket under the 
table by the fire, cozily hidden by 
the table cover, that hangs down 
to the ground. Three times a 
day I go to see the mother and 
take her some milk. To-day their 
was great joy; two of the pups 
had opened their eyes. I con- 
gratulated their mamma, and said, 
“Don’t you think you might move 
about a little now, you lazy thing ! 

[ Get up, get up !’’ But she, giving 

I me a limp paw, sets up barking, 
and I, in an agony of fear;^tak^ 
hold of her nose and hold it 
^ tightly, with a threatening 
“Quiet, Rattler, or you will lose 
your pups !’’ At the same moment 
I hear a laughing “Good-morning” 
behind me. You know the big 
armchair that stands in the win- 
dow recess, its back turned to the 
fireplace? With one knee upon it, 
his arms resting upon the back, as 


22 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


if he were in an opera box, is the 
count. “Bother take you, Mr. 
Detective!” I think to myself; 
and the following conversation 
ensues : 

/. When did you come in? 

He. Oh, I was here long before 
you came. 

L Indeed ! And pray what 
were you doing? 

He. Reading. 

/. Reading? You need not 
think I am such a little greenhorn 
as to believe that. 

He. Your doubts surprise me! 
Why should I rot have been 
reading? 

I. On such a day, when you 
might have been following the 
hounds? You may tell that to 
the marines. 

He (springing from his post of 
vantage, and coming toward me 
with a forbidding expression on 
his face). Your opinion of the 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


23 


pleasure to be derived from books 
seems to be but small? 

/. Were it a question of life or 
death with you, my opinion would 
remain the same. ^ 

He (with expression still more 
forbidding). I am much obliged ! 
I value my life too highly to 
stake it in such a cause. 

/. I assure you, on my honor, 
you would not be risking much. 

He (like an old professor at an 
exam.). You apparently occupy 
yourself but little with reading? 

L Just enough to do penance 
for my sins, and to keep up my 
English. 

He (with a kind of fatherly 
solicitude which strikes me as 
intensely comical, and with an air 
of severity which exasperates me). 
And, may I ask, do you think it 
necessary to keep up your French 
in the same manner? 

/. In the same manner. 


24 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


(Oh, my dear, I grew crimson ; 
for the thought of that wretched 
book flashed across my mind that 
Fred got for me last winter, and 
of which I would not tell you one 
word, despite all your entreaties.) 

He, You are acquainted, then, 
with the modern French ideas of 
society? 

I (impatiently). I might say 
“No,” and you would believe me; 
but I hate a lie, and so, like an 
honorable fellow, I prefer to say 
“Yes.” 

He (looks at me a long while 
— not angrily this time, but 
quite sorrowfully — and murmurs, 
“What a pity! but ‘honorable 
fellow' is delightful”). Tell me, 
old man — I beg pardon, honored 
countess — do you ever read a 
German book? We have some 
well worth reading. 

/. Oh, Goethe and Schiller! 
Yes, I know 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 25 


Nesti, a weary prospect opened 
out to me. In imagination I saw 
ourselves sitting like the young 
couple on the title ^age of a Ger- 
man magazine — he reading aloud, 
of course out of Schiller; I, in 
“attitude of rapt attention,” nest- 
ling up to him ; our baby, in the 
arms of my one maid and general 
factotum, gravely turning over the 
leaves of a family Goethe. 

“If that is his picture of our 
domestic life,” thought I, “the 
sooner I undeceive him the bet- 
ter.” And as he hurriedly asked, 
“You know Goethe and Schiller?” 
I answered resolutely, “Pooh! do 
not expect me to study the clas- 
; sics. Goethe, I have always been 
i told, is immoral; and Schiller is 
quite too long-winded for me.” 

So that was settled once for all. 
We then talked about other 
things, principally about Rattler, 
whom he sai'd was a jolly little 


26 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


creature, swearing not to betray 
me. And he was as nice as could 
be when I asked him to collect 
postage stamps for me. It cer- 
tainly took him some time before 
he understood what I wanted 
them for, and that they have to 
be sent out to China, as soon as 
one has a million, to buy a little 
Chinese boy. “And what will you 
do with him when you have got 
him?’* he asked. And I told him 
that he was to be christened and 
trained for me as my little page, 
to stand behind my chair and 
wait upon me at table, in a yellow 
dress with a long pigtail. The 
count laughed heartily (he is 
delightful when he laughs) and 
with a hearty shake of the hand, 
said, '‘All right, I will help you. 
At any rate, this is one ideal 
object.’* Addio, 

Your 

• MUSCHI. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


27 


Sebenberg Castle, 
December 6, 1883. 

You may think yourself highly 
honored at my sitting down to 
write to you at this hour; it is 
2 A. M., and I am dead tired. 

My dear Nesti, we are in a 
whirl. Fred and his friends are 
back from Raigern, and have 
brought some officers with them. 
Old Countess Aarheim and her 
four daughters are staying here ; 
the lake is hard frozen, and the 
snow a foot deep. 

Our mornings are spent in visit- 
ing the stables and riding school; 
after luncheon we skate or go 
sleighing; in the evening we 
play games, or dance, or just 
simply lounge about. Cloclo, to 
my infinite amusement, has set 
up a furious flirtation with the 
count; Mitzi is still pining with 
love for Fred; and as for Kitzi 
and Pips, they remain faithful to 


28 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


each other, and will carry the^day 
yet. What can parents do when 
their children won’t give in? It 
would be too absurd for a captain 
to marry on his pay. He cer- 
tainly would not be my taste, but 
the two geese reply to every com- 
mon-sense remonstrance that they 
love each other. As if they could 
have any reason more senseless for 
making each other miserable. 

The count has quite joined the 
masculine community, and is first 
and foremost among them ; he has 
given up paying compliments, 
and, do you know, my dear, I 
have made up my mind to accept 
him. 

Fred, who of course scented at 
once the meaning of the count’s 
visit, is behaving so sensibly that 
one cannot praise him enough ; he 
really i5 a dear old fellow. Do 
you remember at the last carnival 
his wearing my colors, and yet. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


29 


even then, he never breathed a 
word to trouble me, nor has he 
now. 

This morning I was trying the 
paces of a foal, and Fred, whip in 
hand, came up. 

"‘How do you like the count?’' 
said he. ‘T think him a capital 
fellow, and he has thirty thousand 
pounds a year.” 

“And not a single racer,” said 
I ; upon which, with a sly look, he 
replied : 

“That will soon be altered. If 
you should want a first-rate mas- 
ter of the hounds, think of a 
friend at Rahn up in the moun- 
tains ” 

I should think I v/ould ! He 
shall be one of the first I invite in 
my new home, to make people 
sociable together. 

Good-night, Nesterl. I declare 
I am half asleep — a moment ago I 
was wide awake, but the thought 


30 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


of the admirable Clara Aarheim 
has set me yawning. “My do- 
mesticated daughter/' as the old 
countess calls her, because she has 
evidently given up all hope of 
establishing her — “my domesti- 
cated daughter" is more insipid 
than ever; she would do very well 
for a major's wife — say a major in 
the infantry, who lives upon his 
pay. Now my young lady has 
renounced the world, she finds no 
pleasure in society — in other 
words, no partners. No one can 
endure her with her mincing ways 
and everlasting blushes. She 
bores even the count, and he is 
never as lively with her as with 
us. Onlyl^ancy, he considers her 
good-looking ! A good-looking 
stick. That kind of beauty is not 
to my taste; it reminds me of 
those statues we pass by in muse- 
ums, with downcast glance, when 
we walk along so discreetly with 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 31 

our mammas — poor mammas! if 
they only knew that we are not 
as demure as we look! 

Only fancy, the count can be 
satirical. He actually persuaded 
Clara to mount before us all, and 
then praised her riding to the 
skies. We were dying with 
laughter, and she looked so con- 
fused ; and I, catching up a 
book, rushed forward, saying 
gravely : 

“Allow me to celebrate the 
episode in verse,” and sang: 

“ Slow and sure, slow and sure, 

To guard our bones is the best cure ? 

Good-night, I am dead asleep; 
I must say my prayers in the 
morning. And only think, the 
count said to me : 

“You have such a charming 
voice, what a pity you have never 
taken singing lessons.” 

Here I went to sleep last night. 


32 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


my pen fell on the paper, and you 
will receive a letter adorned with 
blots. I have one thing more to 
tell you about the worthy Clara. 
You must know that she raves 
about the count, and took it upon 
herself to read me a lecture yes- 
terday. 

“With such a man“ — oh! the 
emphasis on *'such a man,“ and 
her eyes lit up like a couple of 
Bengal lights — “with such a man 
you should conduct yourself very 
differently, dearest Muschi. He 
is not accustomed to the kind of 
conversation you indulge in with 
the fast young men you have 
about you. It is plain that he 
likes you ; how could it be other- 
wise? but it is very evident that 
your talk and manners often hor- 
rify him.“ And then she must 
needs launch out into a tirade 
against horsiness and stable talk, 
frivolity and lack of reading and 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


33 


thinking, and goodess only knows 
what. Heaven knows, I detest 
everything fast, but her way of 
depreciating the things that I 
most like and value exhausted 
my — never too great — stock of 
patience. I dare say I answered 
her very rudely, and I certainly 
told her that her room was as 
good as her company. And so 
my lady took herself off, looking 
uncommonly like a bedraggled 
poodle. And in my first fury I 
sat down then and there and made 
a sketch of her presiding over the 
school of needlework she had 
started at home, a book under 
each arm, one hand wielding a 
birch rod, the other displaying a 
darned stocking, upon the tip of 
her nose, flattened for the pur- 
pose, pirouettes a tiny weeny 
scholar. My caricature made the 
round of the drawing room, and 
everybody had a secret giggle 


34 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


over it. Nagel, of course, de- 
plored my fresh piece of mischief, 
and had nearly let the cat out o( 
the bag. Clara was more amused 
by it than anyone, which was far 
from my intention, and the count 
was amazed at my talent for 
drawing, and thought it a thou- 
sand pities that I had not had 
drawing lessons. The remainder 
of the evening he devoted to 
Clara, presumably talking to her 
about the school of needlework. 
Poor man ! 

Yours, 

Muschi. 

I open this to tell you that the 
count has begged me to grant him 
an interview. Things are becom- 
ing serious. My parents are 
beaming. I will telegraph to you 
when our engagement is to be 
made known. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 35 


Sebenberg Castle, 
December 28, 1883. 

Yes, dearest, we shall soon be 
coming to Vienna,* and I shall be 
jolly glad to see your sweet self 
again, and glad of Carnival. 
What a nuisance that it is cut so 
short now; there is no possibility 
of crowding in enough dances; 
and I feel inclined to rush in 
madly for gayety. Unluckily 
Fred will be away; he is spending 
the winter in Old England, as he 
wrote papa a few days ago, with 
apologies to the ladies for not 
having come over to say good-by 
before starting. Papa is angry 
because Fred rather did him over 
some horses — as if that 

Your letter has just come — the 
third in which you bombard me 
with questions. Don’t you see 
that I have been taking a rise out 
of you? How do you suppose 
that I should consent to be im- 


36 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


mured in Swabia, where the men 
go in for domestic life as a profes- 
sion, and the women knit socks 
from conviction? 

We certainly did have a conver- 
sation, Count Carl and I, but of a 
very different nature from what 
you have been imagining. 

He began by saying that his 
visit to us had been a memorable 
one, in that it had given him quite 
new impressions — had opened out 
a new world to him. 

“If it was new to you, you have 
adapted yourself very readily to 
it,” I made reply. 

“What wonder, with such a 
guide as you, countess — such a 
model in all knightly arts and 
usages.” 

“Is that intended to be iron- 
ical?” 

“By no means. I return to my 
Penates richer than I came.” 


“To where?” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 37 


“To my household gods.'' 

“Aha!" 

Here the interview came to a 
slight hitch, but I set it going 
again by asking what was the 
gain* he had made by coming 
among us. 

“Of a friend !'' he exclaimed ; 
“a young, charming, reliable 
friend, ’named Countess Muschi."^ 

** Pardi I exclaimed. 

And he, losing no time, seized 
my hand, coloring fiery red, and 
his voice shook. “A friend upon 
whose help and support I count in 
the most important moment of 
my life.'' 

“What moment do you mean?"' 

“That which must decide the 
weal or woe of all my after life — 
that in which you will win my 

eternal gratitude — by asking 

Here his shaky voice toppled over 
entirely. 

“Whom am I to ask — myself?'" 


38 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


I blurted out ; but, luckily for me, 
in his agitation he was unconscious 
how I had given myself away, and 
went on : 

''Countess Clara Aarheim.” 

Here I must have looked* un- 
commonly sold, for he exclaimed 
hurriedly, "You think there is no 
chance for me. Is it too late — is 
Countess Clara no longer free?” 

Nesti, human nature would not 
stand it ; and I broke out with 
"What a sell!” Upon which the 
poor count was thrown into fresh 
alarm, and conjured me to be 
frank with him, and only tell him 
if he must renounce the idea. 
Of course, it would have been a 
miracle if such a treasure as Clara 
had not already found a suitor, 
and he had been a fool to hope 
for such a miracle. 

"Stuff and rubbish,” thinks I to 
myself; then aloud, "Not such a 
fool as you think ! I know Clara’s 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


39 


affairs tolerably well. So far she 
has had no admirers.” 

”Is it so — is it so?” and seizing 
my hand he kissed it passionately. 
*‘And she? Has she not seemed 
to care for anyone?” 

“Not a bit of it. A girl is hard- 
ly likely to be so unpractical as to 
care for a man if he does not care 
for her. That is hardly our way.” 

He heaved a deep sigh. 

“You have no idea what a girl 
in your sphere can do, who has 
the courage not to ‘be led by 
fashion.^ ” 

“Pray do not expect such cour- 
age from me. To my mind it is 
as little like the real thing as is 
forced laughter to real honest 
mirth.” 

“And yet I do not know. 
There may be a higher standpoint 
than that of society.” 

“That is the one consolation of 
those who are excluded from it.” 


40 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


“Then at least grant it to such 
poor devils, who would otherwise 
be left despairing,’' he said, with a 
good-humored laugh; and, going 
back to his subject, he over- 
whelmed me with entreaties to 
find out from Clara, without her 
knowing it, if he were in any way 
obnoxious to her. 

To this I answered that I could 
save myself that trouble; that he 
was anything but obnoxious to 
her. 

“And you think, then, that I 
may hope in time ?“ 

“In time? This very day, if 
you only choose to ask.” 

“Countess !” 

“Why are you so surprised? 
Clara would never dream for a 
moment of refusing you. When 
has she ever had a chance of 
making such a match before?” • 

“Ah — of making such a match,” 
he repeated, crestfallen. “If it 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


41 


were only You could not have 

given me greater discouragement, 
countess, than in that one word.” 

And so, in his discouragement, 
he poured out to poor me an 
harangue about love, intellect, 
mutual understanding; winding 
up with the trite remark that 
nothing in married life is so im- 
portant as are these things. Any 
poor devil who had not known a 
day’s happiness in his life, or 
what money can bring, could not 
have spoken more eloquently. 

Awfully odd ! it did not seem 
all nonsense to me — at least not 
the whole time. There were 
actually moments in which the 
thought came over me, perhaps, 
after all, he is not so utterly 
wrong ; perhaps there really is 
something in sympathy of taste, 
as well as in suitability of posi- 
tion. (Certainly position alone 
does not promote happiness.) 


42 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. ^ 


And then I thought to myself, 
“You are a good man and clever; 
I am not a bad girl or a stupid 
one ; why should not we have 
suited each other? Perhaps I was 
a goose for my pains to have 
thrown you in Clara’s way ! But 
that little malaise soon passed 
over, and I began to picture her 
felicity, and the joke it would be 
to ask her if she would accept the 
count. Then, too, I remembered 
the many tricks I had played her; 
and how ill I had requited her 
friendship for me ; and so, extend- 
ng my hand in right good fellow- 
ship, I exclaimed : 

“All right! Shake hands upon 
it. I will obtain permission for 
you to plead your cause. Take 
it all in all, Clara is well suited to 
you She has always said that in 
marriage the bridegroom was more 
to be considered than his rent- 
roll.” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


43 


My red sportswoman’s hands 
have often been kissed, but never 
so fervently as by the count at 
that juncture. 

Suffice it to say, Nesti, all went 
off splendidly. Clara’s perplexity 
was tremendous ; how at first she 
said No, in her humility and dis- 
cretion ; how the count then went 
at it with a will, swearing a man 
could only marry one woman — 
and what was to be done if that 
woman would not have him? 

The bliss of Casa Aarheim can 
be more easily imagined than de- 
scribed. My people seemed less 
overjoyed. Mamma puffed away 
at her nineteenth cigar that day. 
Papa pinched my cheek, and said : 

“I say, pussy.” 

“What, papa?” 

“You are a goose.” 

“Family secret, papa. If you 
betray it, it’s at your own cost.” 

Three days later, the count 


44 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


went home to make all necessary 
preparations for the reception of 
his young wife, to whom he is to 
be married during Carnival. His 
departure was quickly followed 
by that of the Aarheims. 

The lovers’ parting was, Heaven 
be praised, accomplished without 
a scene. He held her hand for a 
Jong pressure in his, looking at 
her as if to say, “Trust me.” 
She, in the same language, made 
answer, “Unreservedly.” 

It was a parting thoroughly 
conime il faut, and I thought to 
myself — but why always confess 
to you all that I think? 

Farewell, dear girl, and observe 
that it is not always as pleasant 
as it looks to be a sporting count- 
ess, pure and simple. 

Yours, . 

Muschi. 



COUNTESS PAULA. 

E had quite a crowded 
reception last night after 
the theater. He was 
there — more reserved 
and silent than ever. 
He is going away — about to be 
transferred to some other legation 
— probably to Serajewo. 

My friends say it is the very 
place for him ; they are merciless 
to any man who happens to be 
deficient in “style’'; absolutely 
merciless. 

Countess Albertine was for 
some time in conversation with 
the secretary of the French Le- 
gation, by whom he was standing. 



45 


46 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


I heard the secretary remark that 
our German literature, otherwise 
so rich, was curiously deficient 
in memoirs. The countess, evi- 
dently not greatly impressed by 
this fact, murmured ‘‘Ah,’" and 
smiled as sweetly as if the great- 
est homage had been offered at 
her shrine. But he whom I like 
so well and esteem so highly, he, 
who is so gifted and patriotic, 
replied : 

“Yes; unfortunately it is too 
true.” 

Oh, thought I, then the French- 
man is right ; and I formed a 
resolution : If I do not marry — 
and I do not mean ever to marry 
— there shall I be my whole life 
without a single occupation. 
Were it not a worthy aim to de- 
vote my poor abilities to help 
supply so deplorable a deficiency? 
At least I will try. I enter, then, 
upon this work with a due feeling 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


47 


of its solemn import. May 
Heaven prosper it ! 

My Memoirs. 

The 15th of May, 1865, wit- 
nessed my entry into this world, 
to the anything but satisfaction 
of my parents. My sister was 
already married, my brother pre- 
paring for his final examination. 
During the first year of my 
existence my father never deigned 
to look at me. But I, nothing 
daunted, grew big and plump. 
Big, or rather tall, I am still ; but 
plump. Heaven be praised, I am 
not. And as for my dear old 
father, if at first he did not love 
me, there is no trace of any such 
want now. He would do any- 
thing for me, and I have quite 
given up asking his permission to 
anything beforehand ; his one and 
only answer being always, ‘'Do 
whatever you like 


48 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


My childhood was passed al- 
most entirely alone ; first with my 
nurse as sole companion; after- 
ward with my governess, a perfect 
angel, knowing no more of the 
things of earth than angels do. 
For instance — of botany she 
simply knew nothing. If I asked 
her what was larkspur in French, 
she would answer, ** C'est le coiicou 
bleiC ; a buttercup was coucou 
jaune'" ; eyebright, '' le coucou 
blancT All flowers, that is all 
wild and field flowers, to her were 
various colored coucous. But I 
must do her the justice to say 
that she was fully authorized not 
to go too thoroughly into my 
education, my dear good father 
having engaged her on the express 
stipulation that what he required 
for his daughter was a good 
superficial ” education. And 
that was what I certainly ob- 
tained. Thus for a long time I 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


49 


thought I knew the history of the 
world from beginning to end ; 
when suddenly I found that Mme. 
Duphot, at mamma's request, had 
quietly suppressed the whole of 
one century — that of the Refor- 
mation. They desired that I 
should know nothing of Luther. 
But I discovered him — in the 
eleventh volume of Schlosser's 
“History of the World,” accident- 
ally forgotten and left behind 
when it had been decided to turn 
out my brother’s old books and 
pack them off to a second-hand 
dealer. 

Heaven forgive me if I am a 
bad Catholic, but, honestly. Dr. 
Luther does not seem to me such 
a terrible creature that one dare 
not even know of his existence. 
Of course I did not venture to 
express so heterodox an opinion 
to my devout Duphot; it would 
have destroyed her peace of mind 


50 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


forever, and she would henceforth 
have been spending all her poor 
little savings on the reading of 
masses for the restoration of my 
endangered faith. But I did tell 
the chaplain when next I went to 
confession. He merely imposed 
an extra penitential prayer — 
nothing more; nor did he in any 
way alter his customary admoni- 
tion, nor the sentence with which 
it always closed — “And then say, 
‘Dear God, I thank thee for all 
the mercies which thou dost 
vouchsafe to me, and to my noble 
family.' " 

I always used to think it 
strangely worded, and not ex- 
actly in accordance with the 
manner in which we should ad- 
dress the Divine Being, who takes 
no account of “noble" families, we 
being all equal in his sight. 

And this was not the only thing 
in which the reverend chaplain 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


51 


gave me ground for astonish- 
ment. Upon learned subjects he 
held views shared by no one save, 
perhaps, Mme. Duphot and my- 
self — and myself only up to a 
certain period. For example: he 
used to give me my geography 
lessons, we beginning with physi- 
ography as being the most diffi- 
cult, and, once n>astered, the rest 
being bound to follow as a matter 
of course. Among other things 
the reverend chaplain informed 
us: ‘'At the North Pole it is cold, 
and at the South Pole” (Siedpol, 
he called it) ‘‘hot, I suppose.” 

As he said it the thing seemed 
clear, but afterward I had my 
doubts, for, on reference to my 
dictionary, I found that siid 
(south) and sied (scorching, boil- 
ing) had nothing whatever to do 
with each other. 

But now enough of my studies, 
and to turn to my home life. 


52 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


It was as happy as it could be. 
At the first sign of spring, I and 
my Duphot used to repair to 
Trostburg, our country seat, 
whither my parents followed for 
a stay of some weeks during the 
hunting season. 

As with the dawn, long before 
sunrise, the sky is light, so, long 
before my dear ones arrived, my 
heart would be full of joyful ex- 
pectation. True, their coming 
never realized things exactly as I 
had pictured them. The many 
guests arriving simultaneously 
with them claimed their constant 
attention, and, with the departure 
of the guests, they, too, went off 
to pastures new. We would go 
down to the carriage to see them 
off, Duphot and I. Papa would 
kiss me fondly, mamma allow me 
to carry out her tiny lapdog to 
her, from which she was never 
parted for a day. On pretext of 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 53 


placing it on her lap, I used to get 
into the carriage, put my arms 
round her neck, and kiss her as 
much as ever I wanted. It may 
be imagined if my kisses were 
few! Then they would drive 
away, mamma waving her dear 
hand to me ever so far albng the 
road. When I could see them 
no longer from the courtyard, I 
would run to the turret room and 
watch at the window until the 
carriage appeared like a tiny 
speck in the cutting through 
which they had to drive to reach 
the railway station. Half an hour 
later a dense white cloud would 
pass along the horizon, slowly to 
dissolve in fleecy streaks; and 
then I knew : They are gone f 
That cloud fading away in the sky 
had been emitted by the fiery 
engine which was bearing away 
from me those I loved best on 
earth. 


54 the two countesses. 


After such partings I invariably 
cried, as I imagined, until far into 
the night — in reality until about 
ten o’clock; and the following 
morning I had already begun to 
look forward to our next meeting 
in Vienna. 

There I was much better off. 
Papa would often come to visit 
me in the schoolroom ; and 
mamma would send for me to the 
drawing room to see those friends 
who asked for me. Almost daily 
we would meet in the Prater, and 
that was the acme of delight to 
me. Mamma was always so 
pleased to see me— especially if I 
were prettily dressed. I got to 
know that she liked me best in 
my gray velvet pelisse trimmed 
with fur; and whenever my good 
Duphot took it into her head to 
have me dressed in anything else, 
I was like a little fury. 

One day in spring — I shall 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


55 


never forget it ; it happened to be 
my birthday, and I was ten years 
old — a very warm day. I had 
insisted on being dressed in my 
fur pelisse, much against Mme. 
Duphot's better judgment. I 
was so hot in it I thought I 
should melt, what with delight 
and the temperature! 

I was playing in one of the 
copses with some of my little 
friends near the walk, looking out 
the while for mamma, and think- 
ing only of her. At length I saw 
her coming down the avenue with 
a party of ladies and gentlemen, 
and, pointing her out to my little 
friends, said proudly: 

“There; that is my mamma — 
the tallest, most beautiful of all 
mammas !“ 

The children looked up eagerly, 
and one little precocious creature, 
with whom I often used to fight, 
exclaimed : 


56 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


'‘Yes, she might be if she were 
not so old. My mamma says 
that yours is old, and already has 
a lot of wrinkles round her eyes.” 

To hear this speech, fling my- 
self upon her, and give her a slap, 
was with me the work of a second. 
Of course she struck back, and it 
became a free fight. Our govern- 
esses in vain tried to part us; 
all they got for their pains was a 
stray blow from one or the other, 
intended for the adversary. Sud- 
denly I heard mamma’s voice call- 
ing me, and, forgetful of rage, 
scrimmage, and the enemy, I 
rushed off into the walk, with 
arms outstretched, toward her. 

Repelling me with a look which 
rooted me to the spot, she ex- 
claimed : 

''Comme vous voila faite ! ” 

And for the first time in my life 
I saw mamma angry. Turning to 
Mme. Duphot, who was courtesy- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 57 


ing to the ground, she haughtily 
inquired why I was not wearing 
my spring costume; and as she 
passed on we caught the words, 
‘'Really, these governesses are 
insupportable/’ And I — I could 
have wept for pity over my poor 
Duphot, and for shame over my- 
self ; wept — but sparks of fire, like 
Shakspere’s Queen, of whom, by 
the by, I knew nothing in those 
days. 

For three whole days we did 
not dare present ourselves in . the 
Prater. 

So I grew up. 

Year by year my parents pro- 
longed their stay at Trostburg, 
until they have got to spend the 
whole of the summer there. My 
dear mother’s life is now passed in 
good works. She treats the sick 
folk of the village homeopath- 
ically, and has already effected 
some marvelous cures among 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


58 


them. She has founded a crechcy 
and a house of correction, where 
the lazy are to be made to work, 
and the ne’er-do-wells to be kept 
under stern discipline. Nothing 
could be more practical; the pity 
is that one cannot force the peo- 
ple to go into it ; and, left to their 
• own choice, they prefer to stay 
away. 

My Duphot is in her element. 

She accompanies mamma twice 
daily to church, reads religious 
books aloud to her, and prepares 
homeopathic dilutions. 

Meanwhile I am papa’s com- 
panion — and he is such a dear! 
We take long rides together. At 
first we used to follow the hounds, 
and he was delighted when I shot 
a hare — more delighted than I 
was. As far as I am concerned, 
hares might have free lease of 
their lives to the detriment of any 
number of plantations and cab- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 59 


bages. Last autumn something 
happened that forever put me out 
of conceit with hunting. The 
preserves were to be thinned, and 
5ome of the chamois to be shot. 
Papa, who had to leave home on a 
short absence, entrusted the corn- 
mission to me, thinking I should 
thoroughly enjoy the task, and I 
had not the courage to tell him 
that it would be anything but an 
enjoyable one to me. 

So, accompanied by the head 
ranger and my good gun, I sallied 
forth one afternoon into the 
peaceful shade and green depths 
of the deer park. Along the 
moss-grown path, whence I had 
so often heard the rustle of the 
herds going down to water, we 
came to the pond, skirted it, and 
saw, through a break on the other 
side, a young chamois just emerg- 
ing from the wood on the slope. 
Stretching her slender neck, she 


6o 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


snuffed the air and came slowly 
forward. 

That’s what we want, the 
female,” whispered the ranger. 
“Take steady aim — fire!” 

His lips trembled with eager- 
ness, his old gray eyes looked 
mistrustfully at me. As for me, 
an ice-cold thrill ran through me 
as, raising my gun in feverish 
haste and nervously pulling the 
trigger, I was only conscious of 
having taken aim. There was a 
report. “A dead hit!” exclaimed 
the ranger triumphantly, and ran 
forward. I slowly followed, my 
heart beating so loudly I could 
not run. 

“Shot in the heart!” cried the 
old forester from afar. “A crack 
shot ! Could not have been 
better.” 

Intoxicated at my success he 
wildly waved his hat, then begged 
mine that he might stick a pine 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


6l 


twig in it. While thus engaged, 
and I standing there gazing with 
wide-open eyes at the pretty 
young creature lying prone, its 
graceful head thrown back, there 
appeared on the verge of the 
wood a tiny kid. 

'‘Good Heavens, Bayer!’' I ex- 
I claimed. And looking up, the 
^ ranger cried : 

"My word! had she got a little 
' one! If I had only known it!” 

( Meanwhile the young one came 
confidingly and fearlessly up to 
I us. Surely if mother could lie so 
quietly on the grass by those 
> people they would do it no harm, 

! it thought, and began pushing its 
mother with its moist shining 
I nose, and then quietly to drink in 
I its last nourishment from the 
I accustomed source; and when no 
more would come, not one drop, 
left off trying, and stood up look- 
ing inquiringly at its mother and 


62 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


at US, looking as innocently as only 
an animal can look. 

The ranger, taking it up in his 
arms, carried it home. It had the 
warmest corner in the pine plan- 
tation given to it ; a little hut was 
built for it, with a soft bed of moss 
and hay. I have spent whole 
days by it. Never in all my life 
did I desire anything so ardently 
as that it should grow used to me 
and not be afraid of me. But 
trustful in freedom, timid and full 
of mistrust in confinement, it 
never grew used to me, never lost 
its dread of me — it died. 

When my dear father came 
home I told him I never would 
go shooting again. He laughed ; 
and in my excitement I cried : 

“You ought not to desire it of 
me. If ever I married, and had a 
daughter who took pleasure in 
shooting any living creature, I 
should be utterly miserable.” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 63 


‘‘Don’t talk such nonsense. 
You have grown quite idiotic, 
child. And,” he continued en- 
treatingly, “and, above all, do 
talk in English.” 

Now I am going to tell of my 
dear father. To describe him so 
accurately as that all who read 
these memoirs should seem to 
have his living presentment before 
them is beyond my power; I will 
only endeavor to portray him as 
he is, and, especially, as he is to 
me. He really often has occasion 
to find fault with me. I am either 
too noisy and too merry, or else 
too much in my own room read- 
ing. He says a learned woman 
is the greatest of all calamities. 
He looks upon learning as an 
importunate being ever ready to 
spring upon one unawares, on 
one’s making it the slightest ad- 
vance. In vain do I try to com- 


64 the two countesses. 


fort him with the assurance that 
I might know off the whole con^ 
tents of my library by heart, and 
yet not have any pretensions to 
be a bluestocking. 

“Heaven grant it !“ is his an- 
swer. “A woman’s head should 
be in her heart. From her heart 
and disposition should come all 
her understanding.” He has said 
this so often to me, that I yes- 
terday ventured to raise an 
objection. 

“You tell me it must come; 
but it does not. There are things 
which even a woman cannot 
fathom from the mere depths of 
her temperament. So Baron 
Schwarzburg von Livland said 
lately; and I have not the least 
idea what he means, and my heart 
certainly has not told me.” 

But I am anticipating events. 

There is not a single handsome 
book in my library that papa him- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 65 


self has not given me; he, who is 
always inveighing against love of 
books. Handsome, I mean here, 
more with regard to exterior than 
to interior. But happy for me 
that there are handsome editions 
of books with irresistible illustra- 
tions. Happy for me that you 
have lived and sketched, Gustave 
Dore! To you I owe the pearl 
of my collection; to you is it due 
that my beloved father has grown 
almost into a bookworm — as 
much a bookworm, that is, as I 
can be called a bluestocking. 
The noble knight of La Mancha 
it was that conquered him. At 
first it was the illustrations which 
captivated him, and on their 
account I acquired the book. 
The unimportant text, though 
not even English, was, as it were, 
thrown in with the purchase. 
What a surprise it was to me! I 
had thanked him profusely for a 


66 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


picture book, and what a treasure 
had come into my possession ! I 
could not keep my rapture in it 
for myself, and day by day as I 
read, I told the story to my 
father, and day by day his inter- 
est in Dulcinea’s knight grew 
warmer. 

“What has the donkey been 
doing to-day?” he would ask, and 
for a while I suffered it to be “the 
donkey.” Not for long, though. 
Soon I laughed no longer; rather 
melted with sympathy, burned 
with admiration. I grew to love 
the man ever deceived, but ever 
believing ; the knight so often 
worsted, but never vanquished; 
and declared to my father that I 
desired no better fortune than to 
meet with such a Don Quixote in 
real life, and become his wife. 
Then papa began to think I was 
getting too excited over it, and 
it would be well to change the 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 67 


course of my studies. And from 
that time he took to overlooking 
my reading, and got to do what 
he had never done before — to 
read. And it would have been 
impossible to see anything more 
beautiful than the expression of 
devotion and absorption in his 
noble Wallenstein-like counte- 
nance, in every fold of the fine 
brow, when thus engaged. 
Sometimes he heaves a deep sigh, 
and twists one side of his mus- 
tache so furiously that the point 
is all awry, his eyes get fixed, the 
eyelids red with the unwonted 
application. Then I can stand it 
no longer; I jump up, go to him, 
and giving him a light kiss on the 
shoulder, so light that he can 
pretend he does not perceive it, 
say : 

“Shall we go for a walk, papa? 
I am quite stiff with sitting.” 

'‘Upon my word, so am I,” he 


6S 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


says, and it does me good to see 
how he straightens himself and 
draws in a free breath. But he 
does not immediately carry out 
my suggestion ; the book-marker 
must first be deliberately placed 
in the page. 

“So far”; he takes the perused 
pages between the palms of his 
hands. “Will it be too little for 
you?” 

And I, unthinking, ungrateful 
as I can be, have so often 
thoughtlessly made reply, “Oil, 
much too little; why, it is hardly 
anything. You must let me read 
on further, papa.” 

Closing the book, he slowly 
shakes his head, looks at me, con- 
siders a little, looks at me again, 
and then follows: '‘Do whatever 
you like!” 

And I, before he can defend 
himself, rush into his arms. 

‘‘No, no, only what thou likesty 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 69 


not what I like^ shall be done, 
now and always.’’ 

“You might just as well 
have said that in English,” he 
answers. 

“Oh, you dear good father of 
mine !” 

Last year my sister, for the 
first time since her marriage,, 
passed the winter in Vienna. 
Report said that her husband on 
the wedding journey had in- 
formed her that she should not 
set foot in the capital again until 
he had cured her of her ‘‘count- 
ess” ways. 

He is a tall, cold, haughty man,, 
who barely vouchsafes to utter 
twenty words in a day, even when 
most loquacious. It is difficult to 
know what his tastes are. The 
sole interests he seems to have 
are his palace, his equipages, his 
servants’ liveries, and his wife’s 


70 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


toilets; and that merely to show 
them off. She makes merry over 
it, and sometimes says very witty 
things about it ; but I think she 
would do better if she were to say 
them to his face instead of behind 
his back. She has no children, to 
my sorrow ; I should so love to be 
an aunt. It was decided that I 
was to come out at one of the 
balls my sister was to give in the 
course of the season. I had 
already been to several soirees 
the previous winter with papa 
during Lent ; thus had a tolerably 
extended acquaintance with soci- 
ety folk, and had been mostly 
struck by the dead level of qual- 
ity when taken in the quantity. 
At seventeen one begins to exer- 
cise one’s thinking powers, and 
my reflection had been: If one 
could disembody the souls of all 
these fine people and let them go 
free (the men especially), it would 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


71 


be a sheer impossibility to distin- 
guish one from the other. 

Their conversation was simply 
comical. I could tell •off on my 
fingers the set questions: “Are 
you coming out next Carnival?’' 
“Are you fond of dancing?” so 
often had they been put to me ; 
and not a man among them had 
appeared to me to be one whit 
different from the crowd of others. 

One morning I was informed 
that papa and mamma desired to 
see me in the small drawing room 
— style : Empire, white and gold. 

Mamma was sitting upon the 
sofa, knitting woolen comforters 
for the Reformatory. With a 
dainty little white lace cap upon 
her head, and her white India 
cashmere morning dress, she 
looked like a queen or a saint. 
Papa was sitting beside her in an 
armchair, very erect and agitated, 
as could be easily seen from the 


72 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


blinking of his eyes, a trick he had 
when much moved. My Duphot, 
in her boundless diffidence, had 
chosen for' her seat the smallest 
possible tabouret with the most 
slender of legs, and the effect of 
her corpulent person upon its 
ethereal support was killing. 

“Will you be pleased to be 
seated?” my father asked, with 
forced gayety, and I took a chair 
as close as possible to my Duphot, 
so as to be at hand to lend my aid 
in the event of a catastrophe. 

The faces of my parents grew 
more and more solemn. A sud- 
den feeling of dread came over 
me, and I began to examine my 

conscience if perchance It 

was clear, thank Heaven, else I 
should have felt very miserable. 

My father looked expectantly 
at my mother. 

“Caroline, will you have the 
kindness?” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


73 


“I thought that you meant 
to ” returned my mother. 

“Oh, no, I beg you said 

he. And with an effort, and 
dropping her hands upon the 
comforter, my mother began: 

“Paula, you are now grown up; 
nearly eighteen “ 

“And look as if you were 
twenty,” added my father; to 
which my Duphot, making assent, 
becomes scarlet, and totters upon 
her treacherous seat. 

My mother continues: “Next 
year, dear child, you are to go 
out into the great world.” 

“Oh, yes; I am so glad, dear 
mamma.” 

“You are glad because you do 
not know how poor and worthless 
are the pleasures which await you 
there, and how dearly bought.” 

“Yes, yes,” put in papa, “and 
one should ask one's self cui bono, 
what is the aim of it all?” 


74 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


Mamma took up the argument 
‘'None other than that of self- 
examination, and to enable one to 
arrive at the conclusion, que le jeu 
ne vaut pas la chandelle. Every- 
one plays at the game for a time, 
my dear Paula, because it is the 
correct thing to do.” 

‘.‘Oh, and because it is amusing, 
mamma, and because one is young 
and loves gayety and dancing!” 

She assented. 

‘‘But thinking persons cannot 
hide from themselves the con- 
sciousness of the hollowness of it 
all, and then they turn to the 
realities of life, often bitterly to 
repent of their wasted years. 
Now my question to you is: 
Were it not wiser to save yourself 
these wasted years, and to begin 
at once with the realities of life?” 

‘‘It is but a question,” inter- 
posed my father, in a tone of 
deepest affection, and I read in his 


V 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 75 


words the silent refrain, “Do 
whatever you like.” 

“Yes, certainly, it is but a 
question,” assented mamma. 

And my Duphot echoed, '' Une 
question^'' while drops of perspira- 
tion stood out upon her forehead. 
Her trouble and agitation over- 
came me. I thought, “Great 
Heavens ! what can they be mean- 
ing to do with me?” And seized 
with a sudden dread, I cried: 

“Am I to go into a convent?” 

Mamma smiled ; papa laughed ; 
Mme. Duphot blurted out: 
''Tout au co7itraire ! 

I grew still more agitated. 
Suddenly it flashed across me. 
“Then I am going to be married !” 

Papa patted me kindly on the 
shoulder. “You must surely ^ 
have observed that one of the 
gentlemen introduced to you at 
your sister’s house has been pay- 
ing you marked attention?” 


76 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


“No, papa. I assure you I 
have not.” 

'‘But he has conversed with you 
every evening; the last time he 
remained a full half hour in con- 
versation with you.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Count Taxen.” 

“A tall, dark man?” 

“No, a fair young man, of 
middle height.” 

At length I remembered. Of 
course, a fair young man, of 
middle height, had often come up 
to talk to me. About what? 
Had I been placed on the rack I 
could not have told, so com- 
pletely had the subject of our 
various talks vanished from my 
memory. 

Papa and mamma now imparted 
to me that he was an exception- 
ally delightful young mian, the 
darling of his mother, who had 
never allowed him to be separated 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 77 


from her, and had brought him up 
with the strictest principles. My 
parents actually vied with each 
other in singing the count’s 
praises, and Mme. Duphot, with 
tears of emotion, exclaimed en- 
thusiastically : 

Quel bonheur, mon enfant /” 

The gate bell struck twice. 

“They are coming,” said my 
mother; and my father gave, oh, 
such a loving look at me! I can- 
not describe it other, even had it 
been enveloped in ever so tyran- 
nical a ”You shall, you must!” 
than the old gentle, heart-stirring, 
tender, “Do whatever you like.” 
And my oppressed heart beat 
freely once more, my downcast 
courage revived ; I even felt an 
irresistible longing to laugh ; 
while Mme. Duphot, who had 
made a precipitate movement to 
rise from her tabouret — it had 
really belonged to Josephine’s 


78 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


salon — fell back upon it, and I 
said : 

‘'Do take care; or you will go 
to pieces like the French Empire.’' 

“Child, child !” remonstrated 
my mother. 

“And now, whatever you do, 
no display of bluestockingism,” 
added my father hurriedly, as the 
door was thrown open and the 
Countess Taxen and her son were 
announced. 

And from that day forth they 
appeared regularly twice a week 
at three o’clock, to make their 
afternoon call; and, moreover, 
every Saturday I met the count 
at my sister’s. My parents treated 
him with marked attention. 
Mme. Duphot designated him 
''un jeune homme accompli."' 
Even my brother-in-law, whom I 
had never seen unbend before, did 
so to him. The countess never 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 79 


failed to tell me, in her conversa- 
tions with me, that her son had 
never caused her an uneasy hour, 
and that she was to be esteemed 
the happiest of mothers. I should 
have gone contrary to the wishes 
of my dear ones, and of those 
whose opinion I valued, had I 
found the least objection to the 
state of things; and yet, withal, I 
felt the strongest inclination to 
do so, though without knowing 
why. 

No formal proposal had been 
made. I was only told that the 
count was attracted by me ; and 
that, through his mother, he had 
begged permission to become 
more nearly acquainted with me. 
It must, however, in his estima- 
tion, have been of far greater 
importance that I should know 
him than that he should know 
me, for his whole conversation 
was about himself, his mode of 


8o THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


life, his habits, and tastes. He 
seemed especially to like to dilate 
upon his love of order, and the 
punctuality he exacted from his 
entourage, ,He graphically de- 
scribed to us his old historic 
castle, the arrangements of the 
apartments, the decorations of its 
halls and corridors. We heard 
less of the country where his 
estates were situated ; of the peo- 
ple living about, not one word. 

'‘And what about the neighbor- 
hood?’' my sister asked one day. 
And Bernhard, my brother, home 
on leave, exclaimed : 

‘‘Bruno Schwarzburg must have 
lived somewhere in your vicinity 
before his troubles.” 

Thus, on April 13, 1882, for the 
first time I heard the name after- 
ward to be so dear to me. They 
began talking and laughing about 
him as a haltmad man, Bern- 
hard constantly putting in, good- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 8l 


naturedly, "‘After all, he is a fine 
fellow !” 

“Yes, with a bee in his bonnet,” 
returned the count. “He will 
never make his fortune, as I have 
often told him, even at the time 
he was doing the craziest thing of 
all and entering an action against 
himself.” 

“How could he do that?” I 
asked. “How can anyone enter 
an action against himself?” 

“Ah, how can one !” replied the 
count; “I don’t understand it, 
nor would any other man with a 
grain of common sense in his 
composition. His father, who 
left a heap of debts behind him, 
had had the foresight just before 
his death to hand over to his son, 
by deed of gift, the indisputable 
possession of a small capital. The 
father dead, the creditors seized 
upon everything — a set of miser- 
able money-lenders, for the most 


/ 


82 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 

part, who had been paid over and 
over again during the old baron’s 
lifetime. But one widow woman 
with five children ” 

'‘Excuse me,” interrupted 
Bernhard, ‘‘one daughter, a blind 
girl.” 

The count, who does not like 
to have his statements questibned, 
here said impatiently: 

“My dear fellow, what does it 
matter? So this widow came off 
badly,” he resumed, turning to 
me. ‘‘‘Nothing is left,’ she was 
told when she presented her claim. 
‘What do you mean — there is my 
money,’ says Bruno. ‘The cred- 
itors have no claim upon that,’ 
explains the lawyer, who was 
also Schwarzburg’s trustee. His 
father, I must explain, had taken 
the precaution to appoint a 
trustee, as Master Bruno had 
already shown signs of emulating 
his progenitor in the matter of 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 83 


squandering. So now he insists 
upon paying the widow’s claim ; 
the trustee objects, and the up- 
shot of it was a trial, in which 
Schwarzburg appeared as plaintiff 
against himself, and which he won 
by losing the little property he 
had.” 

The laughter was general, and 
more things were told about the 
man whom they all seemed to 
look upon as an original. 

But I thought to myself, all his 
mad pranks — and many were told 
of all kinds and descriptions — 
seem always to agree in two 
points; there is invariably a noble 
motive at the bottom of them, 
and he invariably comes off worst 
in them. So I remarked: 

''This baron certainly seems to 
do any number of foolish things, 
but luck is very unkind to 
him.” 

"That I cannot see,” returned 


84 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


the count ; and I had already 
learned to know that those words, 
with him, meant, If I do not see a 
thing, it does not exist. ‘*If I 
choose to do idiotic things, I have 
no right to call myself unlucky 
because I find myself on the 
wrong side of the hedge. More- 
over, what people are so ready to 
call want of luck is, more often 
than not, want of sense. A com- 
mon-sense man is rarely unlucky.’’ 

Here Bernhard murmured half 
aloud, ‘'Sickness, death, tempest.” 

Again the irritation with which 
the count greets the most modest 
expression of opinion became 
evident — an irritation he seems 
incapable of checking — as he dryly 
observed : 

”I insure against tempest.” 

I felt a sudden exasperation 
against this child of fortune, who 
seemed so disposed to take to 
himself as individual merit the 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 85 


lavish gifts of Providence, and I 
rejoined : 

'‘Had you had such a father as 
that of Baron Schwarzburg, who 
squandered away all the family 
property, you would have been 
unable to exercise that wise fore- 
sight, for you would have nothing 
left to you worth insuring.” 

His mother crimsoned; my 
parents exchanged a concerned 
look, and I felt more than ever 
alarmed at my own temerity. 
The greatest of heroes experience 
a reflex fear, we are told ; but 
there was nothing of the hero in 
me at that moment, only a rush 
of feelings of shame, embarrass- 
ment, and dread ; and these 
wretched feelings rose like smoke, 
so to speak, from a still darker 
background — the knowledge that 
I had offended the count ! 

He gave vent to a few discon- 
nected phrases, intended to be 


36 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


severe and cutting, but which 
were only savage and peevish. It 
was not the first time that I had 
made a mental note that the 
exalted and noble diffidence, so 
highly vaunted by my parents, 
was in inseparable connection 
with the flattery and deference 
accorded to him. The slightest 
expression of censure changed it 
at once into arrogance, and, with- 
out an attempt at justifying his 
opinion, he would angrily reject 
any comment as absurd, con- 
temptible, and unworthy of 
notice. 

After he had taken his leave, 
my parents began to reproach me 
severely. 

'‘You behaved shockingly. 
You seem to have no idea of the 
honor conferred upon you by the 
count’s attentions. Such a man 
— such a son !” 

“Who never caused his mother 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 87 


a single uneasy hour,” I meekly 
added. 

'‘You are aware of that, and 
yet do not cherish the highest 
esteem for him?” 

"Of course I esteem what is 
estimable in him.” 

"Then pray show it in your 
manner and bearing. You ac- 
knowledge that you esteem the 
count, and have every reason so 
to do, then why conceal the sen- 
timent?” said mamma. "I en- 
treat you, dear child, to let your 
esteem for him be made more 
evident.” 

She glanced meaningly at papa, 
and now he began begging me to 
show my esteem for the count 
more openly; asking how it was 
that I, so pleasant and amiable to 
people in general, should observe 
such a cold and distant manner to 
this admirable young man. 

Alas, I could give him no an- 


88 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


swer. It was a question I had 
too often vainly asked myself. 
The trivial faults which struck me 
in the count were as nothing 
compared to the good qualities he 
possessed in the eyes of my par- 
ents. And so I promised them 
from henceforth to be much more 
courteous and attentive to him 
than I had been before. But 
even this did not quite satisfy 
my dear ones. 

“See, Paula,'* said my father 
earnestly — and his voice was agi- 
tated — “see, dear child, your 
sister’s marriage with Edward has 
brought her happiness and placed 
her in a brilliant position. No 
man could be a more affectionate 
husband than he, and so true a 
grand seigneur. Your brother, 
after having caused us much anx- 
iety by his thoughtlessness, has 
settled down into the right way; 
and thus we can look forward to 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 89 


both their futures with easy 
minds. All we desire now is to 
be able to feel that your happi- 
ness is insured.” 

”And that we should do,” 
began mamma afresh, ''if you, 
dear child, would receive the 
count’s attentions favorably.” 

"Yes,” resumed papa, ''that 
would make us happy and con- 
tented.” 

He stretched out his hand to 
me; I seized it and kissed it, and 
suddenly felt a sharp pain in my 
eyes, and as through a quivering 
mist saw his dear face become 
more and more gentle and tender, 
and then the dear voice began : 

"Besides ” 

But the words which usually 
followed upon this beginning were 
wanting. I waited yearningly — 
in vain. They remained unsaid. 

That night, on going to bed, I 
prayed more earnestly than ever; 


90 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


and yet my prayer was that of 
a foolish child. I prayed for 
strength to obey my parents 
gladly and cheerfully; I ought to 
have framed my prayer quite dif- 
ferently — that I was quickly to 
be taught in the immediate 
future. 

On the 24th of April, 1882, 
one of the most perfect days I 
can remember, we were driving 
in the open carriage in the Prater, 
papa and I. 

The horse-chestnuts were be- 
ginning to blossom, the delicate 
green of spring diffusing its halo 
all around ; that green so tender 
and so unspeakably joyous, just 
emerging from its winter covering 
into the golden sunlight, all un- 
conscious, as yet, of storm or 
scorching heat. 

Our carriage rolled leisurely 
along by our Rotten Row. 
Friends and acquaintances gal- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 91 

loped or trotted past us; then 
three horsemen abreast came 
toward us, the count in the mid- 
dle. He was riding a handsome 
chestnut ; man and horse alike 
presenting an air of comfortable 
self-satisfaction. '‘The world goes 
well with us,” they seemed to be 
thinking — if they thought at all. 
On the count’s left rode my 
brother, looking very handsome 
and spick and span in his uniform 
of major in the Lancers. To his 
right rode a gaunt man on a gaunt 
steed. He sat very erect upon his 
horse, which seemed as if devoured 
by inward fire, so wild and beauti- 
ful were its fine eyes; for the rest 
it was a long-legged, bony mare — 
to say the least of it, positively 
ugly. Nor did its rider please at 
first sight. Luckily for him, no 
one would be content with merely 
a single glance at the striking coun- 
tenance. Long and narrow, it 


92 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


reveals a quite unusual amount of 
energy. The dark eyes, the nose 
with its dilating nostrils, the 
sharply pointed beard, the mus- 
tache twirling high and leaving 
the mouth free, reminded me of 
the portraits of Spanish noblemen 
of the seventeenth century. But 
what reminded me of no one, 
and could be compared to no one 
but himself, was the animated, 
sympathetic spirit that sparkled 
in his eyes. Gravely bowing, he 
retained his hat in his hand long 
after the count had resumed his, 
thus displaying a noble broad 
forehead, surmounted by th[ck, 
waving hair. The brain, I once 
read, shapes its own place, and 
his had formed an arch for itself. 
I know some which are content 
to reside under a flat level. The 
stranger looked observantly at 
me. I felt myself grow red under 
his gaze, and touched papa’s arm, 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


93 


who was exchanging greetings in 
the drive. He turned to me, and, 
following my eyes, recognized the 
rider. 

“Do you know him?” I asked. 

“Who?” 

“He of La Mancha,” said I, 
with a sorry jest, to conceal my 
confusion. 

Papa, not noticing it, answered : 
“Oh, yes. It is that mad fellow, 
Schwarzburg.” 

My presence of mind had 
returned, and I ventured to 
ask : 

“Tell me more about his foolish 
doings.” 

“I know nothing about him,” 
said papa. 

“Oh, yes, you do. Bernhard is 
constantly talking of him.” 

“To make fun of him.” 

“Not always. He really likes 
and admires him, and says he has 
a great future before him.” 


94 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


“Then things must greatly 
alter.” 

‘‘Not so much, after all, dear 
papa — a little turn of fortune’s ; 
wheel; so far he has had nothing 
but sorrow since his childhood. 
Remember what Bernhard told us ; 
quite lately about him. His j 
parents separated ; his mother | 
living abroad, and married again ; - i 
his father, a spendthrift, caring j 
nothing for the boy — worse off 
than an orphan ; ill used at school, 
because the payments were so 
irregular. And he grows up, ; 
struggling through it all, and, 
even as a mere lad, takes a man’s 
cares upon himself and sets to 
earning his living.” 

“Yes, yes; but then his Don 
Quixotism with his small inheri- , 
tance, and his ridiculous love 
story.” 

“Love story? That is odd.” 

An unpleasant sensation came 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 95 


over me, and I thought it strange 
that Bernhard had told me noth- 
ing of this love story. After a 
while, I asked : 

“Who was he in love with, this 
baron?’' 

Papa had thought no more of 
our conversation, and could not at 
first think whom I meant ; then 
answered abruptly: 

'‘He can only adore her mem- 
ory now. She is dead.” 

“When?” 

“Some years ago, as the wife 
of another man, whom she pre- 
ferred to him — ingratitude to 
fidelity which would have gained 
him a name in the Middle Ages, 
but which in modern times has 
simply made him ridiculous.” 

“I do not understand that. 
How can the exercise of any vir- 
tue render anyone ridiculous? 
And fidelity is a virtue!” 

Papa gave a slight cough, “If 


g6 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


you ride a virtue to death, it 
becomes folly.” 

Wisdom — folly. I hated those 
words, so often in the count’s 
mouth. 

“Ah, well, papa,” said I, ”it 
seems to me that there is no need 
for any virtue to grow into folly ; 
it is a folly from the very begin- 
ning. That is why I have so little 
regard for wisdom either.” 

“That is very evident,” ob- 
served my father. 

“And why I love the constancy 
which, seeking no reward, yet 
remains stanch.” 

“Indeed? You do not see how 
senseless it is in a man to believe 
he is loved by a woman when he 
is not? To let himself be fooled 
by her? To give no ear when he 
is told she does not care a straw 
for him? You do not see how 
senseless is such conduct? Or, 
perhaps, it rather attracts your 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


97 


admiration because it is such a 
piece of utter folly !” 

“But did she really not love 
him?” 

“She simply fooled him, I tell 
you. And he, poor fool, must 
needs be keeping lover’s watch 
under her windows, quarreling 
with those who saw through the 
little game, which cost him more 
than one duel.’’ 

I was delighted. 

“Quite right ! I honor him ! I 
can see it now — can hear how 
after the fight, whether conquered 
or conqueror, he cries, 'Dulcinea 
del Toboso is the most peerless 
lady in all the world, and I am her 
true knight!’ Splendid, papa!’’ 

“My dear child! What rub- 
bish you talk! But it all comes 
from those confounded books, 
and I will But enough of it !’^ 

These last words were said in 
English, and I knew it was high 


98 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


time to give up a subject when 
my dear good father took to 
speaking English ! 

For some weeks past mamma 
had begun to receive again, every 
evening after the theater. She 
desired to give the count oppor- 
tunities of coming more frequently 
to our house, without thereby 
exciting attention. Fruitless en- 
deavor! Although his courtship 
proceeded so quietly that, thank 
Heaven, even I was scarcely aware 
of it, my girl friends began teasing 
me about him. Mo^t of them, 
strange to say, called me a lucky 
girl ; and one — I will name her 
Dora — never failed to add “but 
as silly, awfully silly, as she is 
lucky !“ 

She is older than I am, and is 
considered to be very clever and 
well read. When quite a little 
girl, an aunt, who was a woman 
of learning, bequeathed her whole 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


99 


library to her, and she was allowed 
to have it arranged in her own 
room ; her parents letting her 
have her own way in everything. 
Thus at thirteen there was she 
deep in the study of Humboldt’s 
''Cosmos,” and Strauss’ “Life of 
Jesus.” She has explained whole 
pages of this latter to me, but not 
very clearly ; I never could under- 
stand it. 

Dora used often to threaten 
that, if I did not know how to 
value the count better, she would 
get him away from me. And I, 
only too ready, would reply : 

“Take him, by all means; you 
could not please me better.” 

For a long time she thought I 
was only joking. 

“Do you know,” she said, “that 
the Taxens have a prince’s crown 
in their coat of arms?” 

“How could one fail to know 
it?” 


100 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


*‘And have you not thought 
how well your monogram will 
look with a crown over it?” 

I burst into a fit of laughter. 

”Is that the result of studying 
Humboldt and Strauss at thir- 
teen, to make you such a baby at 
twenty?” 

”0h, that is quite another thing. 
I know what is due to the world. 
The greatest men of learning 
attach value to position, and 
would be only too glad to be ad- 
mitted into princely salons, but 
as they are so prosy and 
pedantic ” 

Indignant at her silly chatter, I 
cried : 

“You ought to be ashamed to 
talk such rubbish. Pray what 
do you know about learned 
men ; you have never even seen 
one !” 

” Nor you, either.” 

‘‘No, nor anyone of us, because 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


lOr 


they do not frequent society, nor 
have the slightest wish to do so. 
But you are talking about what 
you do not understand. You 
prate about knowledge of the 
world, and see no further than 
your own little circle. That is all 
you think about 

She was piqued. She is as 
much accustomed to be admired 
^s the count, and can as little as 
he endure to be contradicted. 

Our passage of arms had been 

carried on before a room full of 

• 

my friends, of both sexes, to their 
great delectation. Dora was not 
a favorite among her girl friends^ 
and they chuckled audibly at my 
onslaught. 

“You may be as contemptuous 
as you please,'' said Dora angrily,, 
but in so low a voice that only I 
heard. “You will see the conse« 
quences of having made an enemy 
of me," with a meaning look 


102 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


toward the door, by which the 
count was just then entering. 

I understood her, and answered 
’in an equally low voice: 

“If you only succeed in what 
you mean, you will make me a 
friend for life.” 

^ '‘Very well, I accept your chal- 
lenge !” she responded, little 
knowing how I was silently re- 
joicing in her determination, and 
wishing it all speed. 

The count stood before me ; 
and it seemed as if with his pres- 
ence the atmosphere about me 
had become more oppressive, the 
light darkened. Dora rising, left 
him the chair opposite to me, and 
seated herself on the arm of mine. 
In her white gauze dress, and 
hair so becomingly arranged, she 
looked charming, as charming as a 
Dresden china figure; and the 
contrast between her bewitch- 
ing get-up and the conversation 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. I03 


she carried on was irresistibly 
funny. 

“I wager,” exclaimed the count, 
“that the thermometer is up 
to 28^.” 

‘‘If it were 38®,” said she, 
“I should not feel it. I am 
never warm. I am the marble 
guest.” 

With an uninterested look the 
count murmured : 

“Yes?” 

“But also, I never feel the 
cold.” 

“Ha, ha! You are doing the 
original. I am not at all original ; 
perfectly prosaic.” 

“Oh ! I am very prosaic. 
Would you believe it? I take 
snuff.” 

“Indeed?” 

“I always carry my snuffbox 
about with me.” 

“With nothing in it?” 

She produced a tiny gold box, 


104 the two countesses. 


no larger than a florin, from her 
pocket. 

“There happens to be nothing 
in it, just to-day. Look, I have 
had a death’s head engraved on 
the lid ; and I use death’s-head 
notepaper. I am always thinking 
of death. I believe I shall com- 
mit suicide one day.” 

The count looked aghast. 

'T always carry a dagger about 
with me.” 

“Do you really?” said the 
count. 

'‘So that I may plunge it into 
my heart the moment that 
tobacco, my one friend, has no 
more charms for me.” 

He smiled. He began to find 
her interesting; and as she now 
went on to tell of a curious old 
chest which had been discovered 
in a lumber room of her castle, 
he became thoroughly engrossed. 
Seizing an opportunity when they 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 105 


were absorbed in their conversa- 
tion, I rose and stole away. As I 
turned, I saw Bernhard standing 
by me. 

*‘I have been looking for you 
ever so long,'' said he. “One 
cannot stir a step in this crush.'' 

And looking round, he called : 

'‘Schwarzburg !" 

And I, surprised and so de- 
lighted, as though it had been 
some dear, impatiently looked-for 
friend, exclaimed : 

“Is he here?'' 

Now, be it said, Bernhard 
scolded me afterward, quite 
roundly, for my “Is he here?" 
But I have never been able to 
repent it. As I said it, I looked 
into a pair of eyes radiant with 
bliss, far too great for me ever to 
repent the words which called it 
forth. 

Baron Schwarzburg bowed so 
low before me, that the reverence 


Io6 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


thus expressed in his salutation 
almost abashed me. What had I 
done to arouse reverence? 

We had a long talk together, 
much too long, I was afterward 
told reproachfully. I cannot say 
what it was about ; I was uncon- 
scious of the lapse of time, and of 
the presence of others. He was 
talking to me, and all that he said 
and his manner of saying it was 
pleasant to me, and worth listen- 
ing to; seemed better and wiser 
than anything I had ever heard 
before, at once dear and true. 

When, looking back to that 
evening, I ask myself the ques- 
tion : Was that when we first 
made acquaintance? I answer. 
No. We did not need it; we 
greeted each other as friends of 
long standing; our first meeting 
was as a coming together after 
separation. 

Our conversation was inter- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. I07 


rupted by papa. He wanted to 
consult with the baron concerning 
some matters connected with his 
estate, and Bernhard had told him 
that he could not do better than 
put them into his hands. Both 
gentlemen engaged in earnest 
conversation.; and at its close I 
saw them shake hands, and felt 
quite elated. So the fool of a 
Schwarzburg could talk sensibly 
for once — his advice could even 
be of use ! 

The soiree was over. Most of 
the guests had left. Among the 
last to go were Dora and her peo- 
ple, and the count and his mother. 
The comtesse douairiere, as my 
Duphot called her, was especially 
amiable to me on saying good- 
night. 

“You are so sweet, dear child, I 
quite admired you. How charm- 
ing you were this evening toward 
that poor baron, the attache fel- 


Io8 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


low I But do not forget that 
there may be a danger of your 
good nature being misunderstood. 
That class of person does not 
always know how to accept our 
notice, and is often made uncom- 
fortable by our desire to make 
them feel a leur aise in our 
society.” 

I hardly knew what to make of 
this comment; whether to take it 
as one of praise or blame. 

I will not attempt to describe 
my simple love story at length. 
That my parents would consent 
to my marriage with Baron 
Schwarzburg, the ''attache ItWoWy' 
I did not for a moment believe. 
The consciousness of my love for 
him and of its hopelessness re- 
vealed themselves simultaneously 
to me; and it would have been a 
grave wrong in me had I given 
myself up to the former. But I 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. IO9 


had not given myself up to it ; it 
had taken hold of me before I was 
aware, and from the first moment 
I was as completely under its 
sway as I am to this day. It was 
the same with him. His affection 
for me came as suddenly as did 
my great love for him. It was 
only his perfect absence of vanity 
which for a long time made him 
think it impossible that he could 
inspire me with any warmer feel- 
ings than those of friendship. 
But even that seemed to make 
him supremely happy; and as for 
me — a new life had unfolded to 
me since he had taken me into his 
confidence, and since I had learned 
to know the workings of his noble, 
unselfish heart. He had met al- 
most on every side with injustice, 
and yet he always held that Right 
must conquer. He had endured 
countless bitternesses, yet had 
come through them without one 


I lO 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


taint of bitterness. Truly with 
such a fund of love and strength 
in his own heart, how should he 
believe in anything but goodness? 

The wonderful thing to me is 
that his own estimate of himself 
should be so different from what 
he really is. He affirms the 
motive of the greater part of his 
actions, and the source of all his 
strength, to have been self-will. 
The other day when he was re- 
peating this to me, I asked : 

'‘And was it mere act of self-will 
that led you, as a young barrister, 
to enter that action against your- 
self?” 

He replied, with a frown, “Is 
that old story not yet forgotten?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Then allow me to give you the 
true reading of it. It was under- 
taken in no ridiculous spirit of 
self-sacrifice, but in order to de- 
fend my integrity against my 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


iir 


money ; a thing of priceless worth 
against that which has a market- 
able value. My client was the 
widow of an estimable man and 
faithful old servant ; the money 
in question his savings honestly 
earned. How many years back 
the sum had been in all confidence 
intrusted to his'master's keeping, 
the wife did not know. She only 
knew that his master had repeat- 
edly assured him that the money 
had been invested in a thoroughly 
sound mortgage. What the 
mortgage was her husband had 
no idea, and as the widow of the 
baron’s most faithful and devoted 
• servant it would never have 
occurred to her to ask if her 
money was safely invested, or in 
what. All very well, the lawyer 
said, but why was the woman so 
stupid? Could she not see what 
was going on, and how the baron 
was making ducks and drakes of 


I 12 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


his property? She had seen it all, 
but trusted to her lord's word 
more than to the evidence of her 
senses. And for that implicit 
trust, was she to be made the 
victim, and was her master’s son 
to consent to such plunder? 
Could he? What is your opinion, 
countess; how would you have 
acted in his place?” 

My answer was, ”As you did.” 

‘'And would that have been 
anything extraordinary?” 

“No; only what was right.” 

“Thank God !” he exclaimed, 
while a great peaceful joy illu- 
mined his countenance; “only 
what was right. Yes, that is 
it.” 

He looked radiant. 

“Why thank God?” I asked. 

“Because I have been permitted 
to justify myself to you.” 

“You justify yourself — to me!” 
I said in some confusion. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. II3 

‘'And because you made it so 
easy to me, and because you have 
such a clear insight into things, 
and such an upright mind. 
Above all, that you concede that 
we only do what is right, even 
must we defend that right doing 
to our own loss.” 

“But is not that natural?” 

“No, egotism is natural. And 
the world just now prizes it 
highly. Take up any newspaper, 
and you will read any number of 
articles m favor of it and its ally, 
‘healthy realism.’ In this age of 
humanitarianism — strange anom- 
aly — we find idealism arraigned, 
and every kind of unusual display 
of self-denial, that groundwork 
and absolute necessity of human- 
itarianism, stigmatized as sickly 
and sentimental.” 

Here the count, my sister, and 
Dora came up to us. 

“Aha, here is the baron laying 


1 14 the two countesses. 


down the law!” exclaimed the 
count. 

And Schwarzburg, looking dis- 
mayed, turned apologetically to 
me, saying: 

'‘Is it true — was I really laying 
down the law?” 

“It is rather a habit of yours,” 
interposed the count, assuming 
the cold haughty manner of peo- 
ple in society, to those not so 
highly privileged, and that to me 
is so narrow and petty. 

“You were certainly not laying 
down the law,” I cried ; “on the 
contrary, you were telling me 
something of great interest.” 

“A secret?” giggled Dora. 

“Certainly not.” 

“Then pray impart your inter- 
esting story to us, especially if it 
is not too long. But I fear it is 
long — as long-winded as it is 
interesting. I have been watch- 
ing you at a distance. You are 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. II5 

always so vastly entertaining, you 
two.” 

My cheek crimsoned, and Baron 
Schwarzburg leveled a look at 
Dora which spoiled all inclination 
to pursue her ill-bred jesting 
further. But it had done its 
work, and bore ill consequences 
for me. Count Taxen did not stir 
from my side the remainder of the 
evening; and we carried on a mel- 
ancholy duologue anent ancient 
castellated halls and old armor I 
'‘A mold and mildew type of con- 
versation,” as Elizabeth calls it, 
when her husband, who is uncom- 
monly like the count in essentials, 
begins one of his interminable 
talks with her on that theme. I 
saw her look across at me several 
times with unconcealed commis- 
eration. 

The next day she came to 
talk over matters with me. It 
was early in the afternoon, and 


Il6 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


I had just gone up to my 
room after luncheon, when she 
came in. 

She began taking off her bonnet 
and arranging a refractory lock 
displaced by the wind, apparently 
very intent on so doing; but I 
could see very plainly that her 
thoughts were no wise occupied 
by the lovely, intellectual looking 
face reflected in the looking-glass. 
Suddenly she began: 

“Tell me, child, what are you 
meaning by this Schwarzburg 
worship of yours?“ 

Her unexpected question took 
me by surprise, and I answered in 
a low voice : 

“What can I mean?“ 

“That is what I want to know. 
I want to know what you are 
thinking, what dreams you are 
allowing yourself to indulge in! 
Do you know that for some time 
past you are quite altered ?“ 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


II7 


I felt myself growing more and 
more downhearted. 

“How altered, Elizabeth?” 

“Oh,” she said, “do not let us 
waste time in fencing. The man- 
ner in which you distinguish 
Schwarzburg is the subject of 
general remark. You make your 
almost veneration of him so 
ostentatiously apparent.” 

“I do not make it ostentatiously 
apparent ; I only do not conceal 
it.” 

''And what is it to lead 
to?” 

“It will lead to nothing,” I an- 
swered dejectedly. “In a few 
weeks he goes to Bosnia; and I 
to Trostburg.” ^ 

Shrugging her shoulders, she 
made a few steps forward, then 
sat down on the chair before my 
writing table. The volume with 
“My Memoirs” written large upon 
it attracted her attention; her 


Il8 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


face relaxed its grave expression, 
and she began to laugh. 

'‘So the child has taken to writ- 
ing her 'Memoirs’; here are all 
the secrets — one need ‘only to 
look in and find them all laid 
bare. Do not look so frightened. 
I am curious, but not indiscreet.” 

While her words were sarcastic, 
her great blue eyes were so sin- 
cere, were looking at me with 
such a depth of love and sym- 
pathy, that, taking courage, I 
went up to her and said : 

''You asked me what I want. 
I will confess to you what I do 
not want; I will not marry Count 
Taxen.” 

"Bravo, that is good,” she 
answered phlegmatically. "And 
what about the count, who pur- 
poses either to-day or to-morrow 
to make formal proposal for your 
hand?” 

In deadly fear, I cried : 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


II9 


“How do you know this?” 

“From himself.” 

'‘And does he not see how 
utterly indifferent he is to me?” 

“No. That would be the last 
thing he would be likely to 
see.” 

“And how much more, how 
unspeakably more, I prefer an- 
other to him?” 

“That still less. A Count 
Taxen simply considers it an 
impossibility that a Baron 
Schwarzburg should be preferred 
before him.” 

“And Dora, who is a thousand 
times better suited to him, and 
who promised me that she would 
make capture of him — Dora, on 
whom I have set my hopes — why 
is she not as good as her word?” 

“Because she cannot, sweet 
Simplicity. Because she has done 
all in her power, but in vain. 
She is not to the count’s taste. 


120 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


He scents the egoist in her, and is 
too utterly the egoist himself not 
to avoid his duplicate.'’ 

‘*0h, what can I do, Elizabeth! 
what can I do? If I have to 
marry the count I shall die of 
despair.” 

She threw her arms round me, 
and drew me down to her, and I 
laid my cheek upon her wavy 
hair. 

”Do you really think so?” she 
asked. ''I believe you might 
manage to be not so desperately 
unhappy with him. Only you 
need to be a little wise, my pet ; 
do not go against him in little 
things, and you would soon find 
that you had your own way in 
more important ones. You would 
have to be very careful not to hurt 
his vanity, and where possible to 
sing his praises to him.” 

“What, flatter him!” I cried, 
“praise what I do not approve! 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


I2I 


Flattery! oh, the shame and 
disgrace of it !” 

“Do not give it such high- 
sounding names,” said she. “To 
be a bad wife is the only shame 
and disgrace to a woman. In 
comparison with that, any self- 
imposed humiliation weighs but 
lightly in the scale. And after 
all, it is but a case of weighing 
one evil against another, a com- 
promise with the enemy, other- 
wise called the ills of life. Perfect 
happiness, cloudless, whose lot is 
it? Who even may indulge an 
unbroken dream of it?” 

'‘Oh, were it only a matter of a 
dream, I should soon be in pos- 
session of it.” 

‘‘Indeed ! Then trust me, and 
put your dream into words.” 

‘‘Dare I? May I?” 

“You must.” 

“Do not forget that it is only a 
dream.” 


122 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


‘*Well— begin/^ 

“I should dream that I was his 
— you know whom I mean — and 
had no more ardent wish than to 
make life, hitherto so hard to him, 
sweet and beautiful. At his side 
I would grow wise, and clever, 
and better day by day. Every 
breath I drew would be a song 
of praise to him. Did, however, 
so strange a thing happen that he 
could ever do anything my con- 
science did not approve, I would 
tell it him, frankly, freely. I 
would shrink from no pain ; for 
he would be there to bear it with 
me, and its burden would be 
lightened. What pain could 
come to me, so long as I was his, 
and his love mine?’' 

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, in a low, 
stifled voice ; “yes.” 

'‘That is what my dream is like 
— the purest bliss. But the real- 
ity is horror — horror, Elizabeth ! 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 123 


You have utterly crushed me. 
That miserable compromise ; that 
mean-spirited subjection, in order 
to preserve the outward appear- 
ance of unity while hiding the 
inward disunion — I could not do 
it. And you ” 

A horrible thought had flashed 
across me; I bent down and 
looked into her face ; it was 
bathed in tears. “Can you do it^ 
my darling?” I said, sinking on 
my knees, and embracing her. 

She pressed me convulsively^ 
and agonizing sobs shook her 
breast, as she answered : 

“I have learned to do it!” 

For a time we preserved deep 
silence. When at length I raised 
my eyes to her dear face, it wore 
its accustomed look of composure. 

She rose. 

"Come with me to our parents, 
child,” she said. cannot help 
you to the realization of your 


124 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


dream; but you , shall not be 
sacrificed.” 

Mamma was sitting in the cor- 
ner of the sofa, knitting. Mme. 
Duphot was reading aloud to her, 
Ozanani’s “Poetas Francis Caius.” 

”May we come in, mamma? 
We want to speak to you.” 

Without looking up, mamma 
answered : 

“Please let us just finish the 
chapter. Sit down, girls.” 

We sat down, and Mme. Du- 
phot finished the beautiful legend 
of the Holy Francis and Wolf von 
Gubio. Then placing her book, 
over which she had several times 
hurriedly glanced at me, on the 
table, she rose. 

I caught her hand. 

“Stay!” I whispered to her; 
and Elizabeth hurriedly joined in. 

“Stay, dear Duphot, we count 
upon your help. We want papa 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 1 25 


here, too, as well. May I send to 
ask him to come, mamma?’' 

“Yes, ask him to come.” 

Dear mamma! so unsuspect- 
ingly and peacefully going on with 
her work, meditating over the 
sweet teaching of St. Francis. I 
felt so sorry for her. How gladly 
would I have spared her the pain 
I was about to cause her, but — 
how could I? 

The door opened. Papa came 
in, but not alone; my brother was 
with him. The eyes of both were 
directed upon me as they came in. 

“Oh, yes; there she is,” said 
papa, in a severe, menacing voice. 

I wanted to rise, but my knees 
shook too violently, and I could 
only stretch out my hand to seize 
his as he passed me. He drew it 
hastily back, and going across to 
the sofa, sat down by mamma. 
My brother subsided on to a chair 
near them; and Mme. Duphot, 


126 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


who had been sitting by mamma, 
dififident as ever, pushed her 
tabouret a little further back. 
My sister and I sat at a little dis- 
tance from them, like a criminal 
and his counsel before their 
judges. 

“Dear papa, dear mamma,’' 
began Elizabeth, ''in Paula’s name 
I would pray you ask the count 
to cease paying his addresses to 
her. Paula cannot like him, and 
is determined that she will not 
marry him.” 

I was dismayed and terrified at 
the abrupt manner in which she 
said this. 

Mme. Duphot sighed. 

Bernhard muttered “Oho!” 

My father and mother were 
silent. 

''It is Paula’s earnest hope,” 
resumes Elizabeth, "that you, 
dear father and mother, will give 
your sanction to her decision.” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


127 


“Oh, do!” I broke in; “be 
merciful. I will be forever grate- 
ful to you. I cannot marry 
Count Taxen. I do not feel the 
smallest particle of affection for 
him ; rather the reverse.” 

‘‘Does that mean that you 
have a dislike to him?” exclaimed 
papa angrily. “Who has been 
putting such folly into your head? 
I suppose your elder sister?” 

“For all I hold dearest in the 
world, do not think that ! It is I 
who have implored l^er to inter- 
cede for me with you.” 

“In the first place,” said 
mamma, “you need no one to 
intercede between you and your 
parents, but should have come in 
all confidence to them yourself. 
In the second place, your sister,, 
instead of being so ready to take 
this office upon herself, should 
have pointed out to you how 
foolish it is to have allowed any 


128 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


such fancy not only to exist, but 
to be blurted out before us, and 
for which there is not the slight- 
est reason.” 

“She declares it — that is her 
reason !” returned Elizabeth. 

Her voice, before somewhat 
veiled, was now as hard and sharp 
as when first she came to me. I 
drew nearer to her, and put my 
arm round her — her whole frame 
quivered. 

“Folly — folly,” repeated papa. 
“We cannot listen to such trash.” 

'‘The count is an upright, hon- 
orable man ; well bred, good look- 
ing, and of unexceptionable man- 
ners; a man with whom you 
could not fail to be happy, 
Paula,” pronounced mamma, in 
severe and uncompromising tones. 
“You may not love him now, but 
you will certainly learn to do 
so when it has become your 
duty.” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. I29 


A shudder ran through me, and 
I stammered out : 

“No, mamma, no! I shall 
never learn to love him, because 
I 

The confession I was about to 
make died away upon my lips, I 
turned a look of entreaty upon 
my sister. Her lovely face was 
aflame; with arms crossed upon 
her breast, she was looking un- 
flinchingly, an expression of re- 
proach and indignation in her 
eyes, at mamma. 

“Do you remember,” she said^ 
“some seventeen years ago ad- 
dressing that same promise to me, 
and with about as much justi- 
fication? My suitor, too, was 
upright, well bred, and good 
looking. Now, mother dear, as 
you have not seen or guessed how 
matters stand with me, hear once 
for all ; your promise has not 
brought its fulfillment.” 


130 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


‘‘Elizabeth cried my father 
and mother together. 

Bernhard, who at first had lis- 
tened with somewhat skeptical 
smile, suddenly sunk his head. 
Mme. Duphot had risen, and 
slipped out of the room like a 
shadow. With a calm that chilled 
me to the heart, Elizabeth con- 
tinued : 

“That love, which as a matter 
of course was to come with mar- 
riage, enveloping me in blessed 
blindness, in happy deception, 
came not. My heart remained 
cold, my eyes clear, and with 
those clear eyes of mine I saw 
my upright, well-bred husband 

through and through “ She 

gave a short hard laugh. “It was 
no edifying spectacle.'’ 

I had been so shocked at Eliza- 
beth’s words, above all by the 
decided manner in which she had 
said them, that I had not ven- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 13I 

tured to look at my parents. I 
cast a furtive glance at the chair 
previously occupied by Bernhard. 
It was empty; my brother had 
risen, and was standing by the 
window near to which Elizabeth 
was sitting, looking earnestly at 
her, but, to my relief, not angrily. 

“What does this mean?'’ asked 
papa. “What accusation do you 
bring against your husband? 
He has never acted other than as 
a gentleman ; never been guilty 
of a single reprehensible action.” 

“Never! He has never wronged 
another in the matter of honor or 
property,” returned Elizabeth ; 
“nor has he ever, of his own free 
will, stirred a finger to help an- 
other, let alone made any sacrifice 
for anyone; has never forgotten 
self for the sake of any living 
creature. He has no notion of 
generosity, or of the beautiful, 
save” — and a roguish look flashed 


132 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


across her face-— r'Vhen he comes 
across it in the shape of some old 
oak chest or rusty spur, lost four 
centuries ago by some brave 
knight intent on plundering a 
traveling merchant.’' 

‘'My dear Elizabeth!” said 
Bernhard reproachfully, as, stand- 
ing now behind her, he laid his 
hand on the back of her chair. 

“I know I ought ifbt to talk 
like this,” she answered. “It has 
never happened before, and would 
not to-day, were it not for the 
sake of saving this child from the 
fate which has befallen me.” 

Dear mamma was in a state of 
greatest agitation and perplexity. 

“You exaggerate cruelly, Eliz- 
abeth,” said she reproachfully. 
“You accuse your parents, and 
speak unbefittingly' of your hus- 
band.” 

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, so I 
do ! But then I have promised 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 133 


my sister to stand by her in her 
hard fight between the filial 
obedience she would so gladly 
show to you, and the aversion she 
feels for the count.” 

“Aversion,” muttered my 
father; ‘"absurd!” 

“And keeping my word, I say 
to her in your presence. Do not 
yield! You are my own sister. 
Placed in circumstances similar 
to mine, your life would be as 
wretched as is mine,” continued 
Elizabeth, still speaking with 
that terrible calmness. 

While papa cried: “Wretched! 
What an extraordinary expression 
to use !” 

And she: “Did I know one 
stronger, I would adopt it ! 
Nothing is too strong to express 
the humiliation of knowing the 
being one looks up to — or rather 
one should look up to — to be a 
nonentity ; or the hypocrisy of 


134 the two countesses. 


seeming to defer to him one 
knows to be one’s inferior.” 

“Pride! pride!” sighed mamma. 
Her work had fallen on to her 
lap, she was white as death ; and 
my heart felt how she was suffer- 
ing, as Elizabeth, merely acknowl- 
edging her interruption by a 
scornful curl of the lips, continued 
icily : 

“The moral death it is, and how 
one despises one’s self for it — but 
only with penitent humiliation to 
crawl again under the sacred yoke 
— that, of course, is understood. 
Who would make a public scandal 
of their matrimonial troubles; 
who seek escape from them ; who 
attempt to drown themselves? 
Such, I have heard, is done by the 
vulgar horde who are without 
religion, or are the poor-spirited 
descendants of some worthy shoe- 
maker or candlestick-maker, with- 
out courage or endurance. We, 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. I35 


of the upper ten, are religious, 
strong to endure, have the blood 
of heroes in our veins ! We know 
no deserters from our posts! 
Therefore, Paula, weigh well be- 
fore you undertake the post. It 
is a vilely loathsome one.’’ 

She turned to our parents : 

‘'Dear father and mother, when 
you say to your child ‘Accept So- 
and-so, he will give you a good 
position, splendid castles, a great 
establishment, well-appointed car- 
riages,’ and the like, you are 
doubtless doing what is right in 
your own eyes. But do not say 
to her, ‘Do it because it will bring 
you happiness.’ That you have 
no right to say. Believe me, it is 
presumptuous.” 

Only those who heard these 
words could form any idea of the 
effect, uttered as they were by 
Elizabeth, without raising her 
voice or accompanying them by 


136 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


the slightest gesture. Low and 
deliberately they dropped like 
heart’s blood from some deep 
wound ; and as I hearkened to 
them, there arose in me the burn- 
ing wish that there were anything 
on this earth, anything, however 
great and well-nigh impossible, 
that I might be privileged to do 
for my sister. 

Mamma was petrified. Papa 
had sunk his arms upon his knees, 
and was looking down at his 
clenched fingers. His forehead 
was deeply furrowed, and for the 
first time the thought struck me 
how old he looked. 

Bernhard broke the silence : 

“My dear parents, I entreat you 
if things are thus — it would be 
my opinion — you understand 
what I mean “ 

Oh, it was a blessing to us all, 
the warm-hearted manner in which 
he spoke ! 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


137 


Papa raising his head, thanked 
the dear fellow with an ap- 
proving nod, then looking at 
mamma inquiringly: “What do 
you think?’' 

She, trying to answer, could 
not ; could only sigh : 

“O God ! O God !” 

“What do you think, Caroline?” 
repeated papa. “Are you not 
also ” 

“I do not know,” said she pain- 
fully. '‘It is very difficult.” 

“There is nothing difficult in it ; 
it is all quite simple,” broke in 
Bernhard. “You have only to tell 
the count our daughter is fully 
sensible of the honor, etc., etc. ; 
but she cannot yet make up her 
mind to marry; she does not 
want to leave us — and the thing 
is done !” 

There ensued a long, painful 
silence. Papa brought it to an 
end by saying : 


138 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


“Yes. If she really does want 
to stay with us 

And mamma put in hesita- 
tingly: “Paula is certainly still 
very young !’' 

'‘Much too young!’' cried I. 
This solution had never occurred 
to me. “Oh, my darling par- 
ents!” I would have rushed to 
them, but mamma made a sign to 
Elizabeth, and my sister, rising, 
went and stood before her. 

“You have given us much pain 
to-day, Elizabeth,” said papa. 
He held out his hand to her. 
She did not offer to kiss it. 
What must have been her feelings 
at that moment! Our dearest 
father had given her his hand in 
reconciliation, and Elizabeth had 
not kissed it. 

At that moment the count was 
announced ; and with him my 
brother-in-law, to fetch his wife 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


139 


for the usual drive. Both gentle- 
men seemed to be in a high state 
of annoyance at some blunder of 
their harness-maker; in each case 
their ideas had failed to be car- 
ried out. 

Bernhard sympathized ironi- 
cally in their grievances, but they 
took his malicious comments in 
sober earnest. 

As Elizabeth and her husband 
left the room, running after them, 
I threw my arms vehemently 
round my sister, and thanked her, 
caring nothing for the disapprov- 
ing looks of my brother-in-law. 

“What is all this frantic excite- 
ment about?” he asked. 

Bernhard, who, too, following 
my example, had left the room, 
answered : 

“Ah, my dear fellow! If you 
only knew the vagaries of this 
small person !” and he winked at 
me. “Only think, this person 


140 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


refuses to have anything to say 
to Count Taxen. Count Taxen ! 
the wittiest, noblest, and hand- 
somest of men, and — she will have 
nothing to say to him !” 

My brother-in-law, who evi- 
dently took it as a bad joke, 
answered : ‘'Ah, well, it is a good 
thing that you are here to bring 
her to reason.’! He turned toward 
the door, Elizabeth with him. 
We looked after her, walking so 
calmly by his side — my poor, 
poor sister. 

“I have often shuddered to 
think what must come to light if 
ever the secrets of that prison 
house were unfolded,” said Bern- 
hard. 

“I, too, have often dreaded that 
she was unhappy,” I replied, 
unable longer to restrain my tears. 
"“My only wonder was that she ! 
never complained.” i 

“No need to wonder at that!” j 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


141 


he cried. ''It is not suitable for 
general conversation. If circum- 
stances force it from a true 
woman, she may speak of it once, 
but never again. Take example 
from her;” and he affectionately 
patted my cheek. "Our friend 
in the drawing room is getting 
his conge. Are you content, 
pussy?” 

I was about to thank him for 
his goodness; but with an impa- 
tient movement he drew back, as 
he said : 

"For Heaven’s sake, don’t come 
the sentimental !” 

My parents said no more to me 
about the count; and it may be 
readily imagined that I never 
mentioned him to them. A few 
evenings before the soiree at 
which I made the resolve to write 
my Memoirs, his mother was pres- 
ent, and made a point of showing 
me the greatest kindness. This 


142 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


noble heartedness made me feel 
so small and ashamed that I had 
to exercise the greatest self- 
control to prevent myself from 
earnestly praying the countess to 
think kindly of me and forgive 
me. It would have been a fearful 
want of tact had I done so. 

As she moved away, mischiev- 
ous Pierre Coucy said, with a 
titter, ‘'She is more la crime to- 
night than ever — but sour.’* 

“No wonder,” rejoined his 
brother, with a side glance at 
me. 

Then to Elizabeth: “Have you 
heard our paragon son is off on a 
cruise — to Bohemia?” 

“No, no,” put in Pierre; “in an 
air balloon to recover his equi- 
librium.” 

I was confused at their sallies. 
But Elizabeth, with her majestic 
calm, said: “You are romancing, 
now the secret is out ! I have 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. I45' 


long suspected your silent pro- 
clivities.” 

“You are wrong, countess! 
More than a writer of romance, I 
am a prophet !” 

“Highly necessary, in order to 
see through a sphinx like our 
friend Count Taxen.” 

So they went on cutting bad 
jests, until I felt quite sorry for 
the count, who looked upon the 
Coucys as his friends. They 
must have imparted their surmise 
to others besides ourselves, for 
when Baron Schwarzburg came 
up to me that evening, I read it 
on his brow, and it laughed in his 
eyes, as he heartily wished the 
count a pleasant journey. 

Things are very strange at 
home now, and not altogether 
I pleasant. Even my Duphot, for 
the first time in my life, bears a 
grudge against me — in her gentle 


144 the two countesses. 


way, be it understood, and quite 
as much to her sorrow as to mine. 

My beloved father is out of 
sorts, and although he often says, 
"‘Do whatever you like,” the 
words over which I used to exult 
now make me sad. I always 
dread lest I should hear in them, 
“Our wishes, of course, are of no 
account to you.” 

Mamma, too, seems depressed, 
and spends more time in church 
than ever. 

She must be praying there for 
Elizabeth ; for she has laid it 
upon me in my daily prayers to : 
commend my poor sister to God, 
that he may turn her heart, and , 
awaken in it a befitting and duti- . 
ful love to her husband. And I ^ 
pray accordingly, though I mustj^ 
confess I doubt whether the>s 
Divine Power will see fit to bej 
influenced in such a cause. Thei 
true love which can arouse that| 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. I45 


burning devotion in us, akin only 
to sacred adoration, is given us by 
our Heavenly Father, if to be 
given at all, from the very begin- 
ning. The miserable supple- 
mentary love, gathered together 
for us by joint prayers, what can 
that avail? 

May 2yth , — Reading through 
these pages yesterday, I asked 
myself if these really are memoirs 
that I am writing? Memoirs treat 
of interesting people^ and I am 
only writing about myself ; they 
treat of interesting times, and I 
only occupy myself with the pres- 
ent, which, for the matter of that, 
is very interesting. 

'‘A momentous period in the 
political world !” I heard an old 
gentleman say the other day. 

My whole understanding for 
politics, however, is confined to a 
decided interest in. all that con- 
cerns the governorship of our 


146 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


province. Opportunities of dis- 
cussing it, ever so welcome to me, 
are not wanting, papa having 
interests at stake in it. His ob- 
ject is to prevent the inhabitants 
of one of the districts, against 
better judgment, from cutting 
down the trees and tilling the 
land of one of the forests belong- 
ing to him. Until quite lately 
he was forever complaining of the 
laxity of the local authorities. 
Suddenly, his invectives have 
ceased. I had long wanted to 
know why, but had not ventured 
to inquire into the subject on 
account of his not standing well 
with the authorities. At length 
to-day, taking courage, I said : 

“How are things going about 
the district forest, papa? Is it 
going to be under tillage?’' 

“No, it is not.” 

“Then you have carried your 
point. That is capital.” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 147 


‘‘Father has carried his point, 
because he has put it, at last, into 
the hands of the right man,” inter- 
posed Bernhard, continuing, un- 
abashed by papa’s meaning look 
— “of the man of right, who this 
time has proved the truth of his 
axiom, Right must conquer.” 

Mamma and Mme. Duphot in 
vain endeavored to turn the sub- 
ject; Bernhard, sticking to his 
point, would not yield until he 
had forced from dear papa the 
acknowledgment that Baron 
Schwarzburg was a man of great 
talent, and a very fine fellow. 

That afternoon it was settled 
that in a week we should leave 
town for Trostburg. Elizabeth 
was to come on a long visit to us, 
and without her husband, who has 
just bought a new place in the 
Marmaros, and is about to build a 
hunting castle there. 

My sister is quite another per- 


148 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


son since her husband’s departure ; 
so much more animated, lively to 
audacity, and so loving and affec- 
tionate to papa and mamma. 

She coaxes and pets me as if I 
were a baby. 

“If only you had a real baby!” 
I said to her once. 

'‘Silence!” she cried. “It is 
my one source of thankfulness 
that Heaven has not given me 
one ! I should have hated it as I 
do ” 

She did not finish her sentence; 
but I understood her too well, and 
felt a rush of deepest pity for her. 

When I see her breathing thus 
freely again in her liberty, it 
always makes me think of a cer- 
tain lovely mountain ash tree in 
the foresf. A terrific storm beat- 
ing over it had bowed down the 
young tree, until its crest had 
caught in the branches of a puny 
misshapen fir tree, much smaller 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 149 


than it, and the poor ash could 
not free itself. Its slender stem 
was bent like a bow; its tender 
branches, accustomed only to the 
free space of heaven above them 
wherein to stir and expand at 
their own sweet will, hung to 
earth withered and disconsolate, 
pining in the straggling clutches 
of the tyrant. Fortunately my 
father and I happened to pass 
that way. He had the worthless 
fir tree cut down ; and oh, joy ! 
the mountain ash was freed ; its 
elastic stem quickly righted itself, 
its branches swayed blissfully in 
the breeze, each individual leaflet 
uplifted itself with joyous flutter, 
and its graceful summit seemed to 
bow in greeting to its companions, 
and to the blue sky above it, 
which, answering, shed the glad- 
dening rays of sunlight full upon 
it. 

The mountain ash is forever 


150 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


freed from its oppressor. My 
poor sister must return to her 
imprisonment when summer is 
over. But she does not allow this 
thought to trouble her happiness; 
she is too noble-spirited. She 
says, Enjoy your blessings while 
you have them; it is only the 
pampered children of fortune who 
do not give thanks for happiness, 
because it is fleeting. A Croesus 
has no. easy minute, for he has no 
security but that he may outlive 
his riches. The beggar does not 
enjoy the crust you give him any 
the less through fear of to- 
morrow’s hunger. 

The more I am with her, the 
more do I admire her and sorrow 
for her; and the more I compare 
our lots, the more grateful am I 
for mine. How merciful God has 
been to me! The blessed free- 
dom only granted for a brief 
space to my sister, is mine forever 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 151 

to enjoy, and in addition to it the 
great, silent bliss of being privi- 
leged to think to my heart's con- 
tent of him who is so unspeakably 
dear to me. Though separated 
from him, I will walk as if in his 
sight in all I do, or leave undone, 
asking myself, “Would he approve 
it?" he the right man, the man 
of right ! 

There must be something un- 
usual in contemplation. There 
are mysterious conferences in the 
small drawing room ; long discus- 
sions in papa’s study. Confusion 
reigns in every nook and corner. 
Mamma has sent round notes of 
excuse, and is not holding the 
remaining receptions this season ; 
and Baron Schwarzburg, who 
seemed to have received no inti- 
mation of the change in her 
arrangements, was greatly aston- 
ished the other evening on finding 
us alone. I noticed papa and 


152 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


Bernhard exchange a hurried 
glance as he was announced, and 
that they looked with some 
concern at mamma. Her manner 
to him was cold, but not half as 
cold as that of my Duphot. She 
has conceived the most inexplic- 
able antipathy to the baron, and 
has confided to me more than 
once, with symptoms of extremest 
aversion, that she looks upon him 
as an esprit fort. He stayed an 
hour. The happiness I expe- 
rienced in seeing and hearing him 
was sadly marred by thinking 
every instant, '‘Now he will take 
his leave, and I shall see and hear 
him no more, perhaps, for years — 
perhaps, who knows? forever!’* 

It was an unspeakable surprise 
to me to hear papa say to him, as 
they shook hands: “You must 
look in again and see us before 
you leave.” I could not help it — 
I rushed to papa and impulsively 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 153 


kissed his hand. Looking at me 
severely, he muttered : 

“What is the matter? You 
seem to be growing foolish/' 

May joth , — I must write down 
what has happened — if I can, if 
my trembling hand will let me, if 
my thoughts do not chase each 
other too swiftly. I have kept so 
calm all the evening, have been 
able to speak of the most indiffer- 
ent things with such composure — 
why then should I feel so pain- 
fully agitated now? I certainly 
did think that my family quietly 
overlooked the answers a tort et 
a tr avers I gave them at first. 
Could I have been mistaken? 
They all looked so wise, and the 
wildest imaginings were flying 
through my brain. But that was 
afterward ; what first took place 
was as follows : 

This afternoon I was sitting 
alone in the great drawing room. 


154 the two countesses. 


awaiting the return of mamma and 
Mme. Duphot from church; when 
the door suddenly opened, and, 
without being announced, Baron 
Schwarzburg came in, saying: 

“I came to say good-by, count- 
ess. I start to-morrow.'' 

And I, in my bewilderment, 
could say nothing but : 

“My mamma is not at home." 

“I know," he replied. 

'‘She will soon be back," I said. 
Upon which he bowed silently. 

I had risen at his entry, and 
now did not know whether I 
might ask him to be seated. To 
leave him standing was too 
uncourteous. This threw me into 
a dilemma, and the first few deli- 
cious moments of our being alone 
together were truly uncomfort- 
able. 

He walked to the window, 
and for a while appeared to be 
absorbed in what was passing 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 155 


below. Then he turned again 
tov/ard me. He was holding his 
hat in one hand, his gloves in the 
other, beating them on the brim 
of his hat. 

For the sake of saying some- 
thing, I remarked : 

“The dust is blowing up very 
unpleasantly to-day.’’ 

The dearest smile played about 
his lips as he answered : ^ 

“Oh, no. It has been raining 
hard.’’ 

Another pause ensued, this time 
a long one ; until the baron 
brought it to a close by saying: 

“You are aware that I am very 
glad to be going to Bosnia?’’ 

I replied : 

''Yes, I know; and I know the 
reason. You have a great work 
before you there.” 

“For the small scope of my 
office,” he hastened to make reply. 
“It is just the inferiority of the 


156 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


office I hold which gives a certain 
importance to the work in hand. 
At any rate, it must take a long 
time to settle; and I shall not 
think of coming home until it is 
completed.” 

'‘But you will have leave from 
time to time?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“And you will come and see 
us?” 

“Oh, of course.” 

“That will give pleasure to 
many — to me especially.” 

These very natural words of 
mine seemed to produce a re- 
markable impression upon him. 

With warmth and agitation, he 
repeated : 

“You, especially? you, espe- 
cially?” 

He seemed about to add some- 
thing, took a step toward me, 
then recalling himself, preserved 
silence, merely throwing his 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 157 


gloves impetuously into his hat, 
which he had placed upon the 
window-sill. Then I, regaining 
courage, said: “Do take a seat, 
Baron Schwarzburg.” 

He accepted my invitation, and 
we sat down on the two easy- 
chairs by the flower table, facing 
each other, near the French 
window leading on to the bal- 
cony. 

“How heavy and oppressive 
the air is in town, now!“ he ex- 
claimed. 

And I agreed that it would be 
ever so much pleasanter in the 
country, and in Bosnia, too. 

“Oh, infinitely. And will you 
be as glad to go into the country 
as I to go to Bosnia?” 

I said yes. And then he 
wanted a description of my life at 
Trostburg, and I gave him a 
detailed account of the way I 
spent each day. He thanked me 


158 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


warmly. It would be so delight- 
ful to know where his thoughts 
could seek me at every hour of 
the day; in the woods, in the 
garden, in my own room, or in the 
library absorbed in some interest- 
ing book. ''And be sure that my 
thoughts will often follow you,” 
he added. 

'‘I shall count upon that,” was 
my reply. 

"And will you be thinking of 
me?” He looked into my eyes as 
he asked it. 

With as firm a look, I answered : 

"Always.” 

Then he seized my hand, and 
held it nervously, almost as 
though I were some priceless 
treasure. 

"No, that you must not do! 
Even to one's best friend — and 
that I am to you — one does not 
give up all one's thoughts. He 
will consider himself happy in- 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. I59 


deed if you occasionally grant him 
a kindly remembrance.” 

This modest requirement dis- 
concerted and displeased me, and 
I had the courage to tell him so. 
He must know perfectly well, I 
thought to myself, how very dear 
he is to me — and if I can make so 
bold as to assume that he likes me, 
he surely might be satisfied of my 
love for him. And so I told him 
that, for my part, I should always 
have him in my thoughts, and 
that to do so would be my 
greatest happiness. My dear 
parents had now quite yielded to 
my wish that I should never 
marry. So that danger was over 
— once for all. I should go on 
living with them, loving and 
tending them as long as their 
dear lives lasted ; and when I had 
them no longer on earth, would 
honor their memories, carry on 
their good works, and lead the life 


l6o THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


of an old maid, honored, happy, 
and perhaps of some use in my 
generation. 

He listened patiently, then 
responded : 

‘'Very good. You have made 
me fully acquainted with it all: 
first, of your rules day by day; 
now your plans for the future. 
Very good, we will keep to it. 
You a willing and contented 
old maid; I,’' he shrugged his 
shoulders, “of necessity, an old 
bachelor.” 

“Of necessity?” 

“Yes!” he cried. “Where 
should I find a wife willing to 
share the hard life which I, at 
least temporarily, have to offer 
her?” 

“Oh, on that account? A hard 
life is no obstacle !” 

“And what is?” 

“The wishes of one’s parents.” 

“Ah, there we come back to 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. l6l 

the same thing. The parents' 
wishes spring from the feeling 
that the children they have 
brought up in luxury must not 
make a bad match; it would only 
lead to unhappiness and misery. 
It would lower them in their own 
eyes, and they would lose caste." 

Waxing hotter and hotter as 
he went on, in his warmth he said 
many things which were utterly 
illogical. He derided the preju- 
dices of society, and yet con- 
strained himself with painful 
self-mastery to declare that 
custom had sanctified these 
prejudices, and that they who 
belonged to the circles where 
they held good, did right to 
honor them. 

“Then you do not act up to 
your convictions?" I said. 

“I? Good Heavens! Do not 
speak of what I do. I, as every^ 
one will tell you, am a fool. I 


i 62 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


am far from acting up to those 
convictions, because I do not, in 
truth, hold them ; and on that 
account I am a very fool. But 
not fool enough, countess, not 
fool enough to persuade the one 
I love” — and here he pressed my 
hand with such force that I had 
the greatest difficulty to prevent 
an exclamation — “to follow my 
example, and be my companion 
on my lonely way.” 

He clenched his teeth. His 
eyes looked wild ; his accustomed 
self-control had quite forsaken 
him. He looked so fearfully 
agitated that he would have 
terrified me had I not loved him 
so well ; but because I loved him 
so well I felt, oh, so sorry for 
him, and I said : 

“I know somebody who would 
have no need of persuasion ; who 
would only be too glad to go with 
you, if she dared !” 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 163 


Instead of calming him, my 
words only seemed to excite him 
the more. 

''Happy for that foolish girl 
that she does not dare ! Happy 
for her. She little knows what 
she would be taking upon herself; 
little as I knew, nor the name 
that would be given me, and that 
I first heard myself christened in 
scorn and derision, 'Idealist!' Be ^ 
one ! Struggle against the mighty 
element ; waste your strength in 
useless warfare ! Wrench your- 
self free from all the fresh, joyous 
pursuits of your equals, your 
associates — once your brethren, 
now your adversaries, whose 
interest you oppose, whose con- 
victions you belie, and — to whom 
you yet cling with every fiber of 
your heart 1" 

He was silent. And I did not 
venture to break the silence. 
Still ever louder, more distinct, 


164 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


there arose within me: Foolish 
girl! Yes, twice foolish; to have 
thought it enough to follow him 
at a distance. With him is your 
place. All my other duties sud- 
denly seemed to me unimportant 
in comparison. My dread of my 
beloved father, childish. I believe 
that it was then that in a very 
low, yet decided, voice, I said: 

Were it not better, in such a 
fight, to have a companion at 
one’s side?” 

'‘A companion?” 

”One equally minded with 
one’s self; but who, hitherto, has 
not so plainly stated her views, 
because she could not trust her- 
self, did not so clearly see ” 

I came to a standstill; I did 
not dare to look up at him. But 
I felt that his eyes were resting 
upon me as he asked gently, and 
with a ring of deep affection in 
his voice : 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 165 


“Has it really only just become 
clear to her?” 

“Yes, she knows that she, like 
you, is an idealist.” 

“Miracle of miracles!” he said, 
in oh, so playful a voice, and with 
such repressed rapture. “Am I 
really to meet with so rare a being 
as an idealist in your circle? 
Nowadays? Impossible!” 

“Convince yourself.” 

“Shall I? Dare I? Would the 
idealist you speak o'f be able to 
endure to cast her lot with one so 
obscure, so unknown as I?” 

“Of course. And I only wish, 
with all my heart that you may 
remain obscure and unknown, 
that I may the better prove to 
you- ” 

I got no further; for, rejoicing, 
he interrupted me: 

“You! You! You then are 
willing to be that faithful, devoted 
companion? And to me is to be 


l66 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


granted that rare fortune — highest 
of all earthly joys — to find in the 
wife of my soul the sharer of my 
views, the confidante of all, even 
my boldest aims; my counselor 
in doubt, sweetest consoler in 
sorrow, closest sympathizer in 
success? You will be to me all 
that? All — despite everybody?’' 

''It will not need to be despite 
everybody,*’ I made answer, con- 
fused by the passionate delight 
with which he pressed me to him. 
"I will entreat my dear father ” 

"Your father!” he cried. And 
springing back, he struck his fore- 
head like one possessed. 

And I, to my great amazement, 
looking up, saw my father and 
Bernhard standing there. 

"Well!” said papa ; “kept your 
word?” 

“Do not ask me. Do not ask 
me!” cried Schwarzburg, beside 
himself. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 167 


With a loud laugh, Bernhard 
cried : 

'‘What, have you not succeeded 
in persuading her against Baron 
Schwarzburg? lam jolly glad!’" 

“I am not,” responded papa. 
“It is as I expected. But then, 
I am no idealist; I know man- 
kind.” 

Bernhard blurted out, “If he 
had really been such a Don 
Quixote as to ” 

“Be still!” said my father 
authoritatively. 

But he continued: “I would 
have cut him dead.” 

Here a footman announced 
that mamma awaited the gentle- 
men in the small drawing room. 
They obeyed the summons: at 
once; papa sending me up to my 
own room. Here I still am. 
They seem to have quite forgot- 
ten me ; or else they will have no 
more to say to me. No one 


l68 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


seems to trouble about me. Oh, 
if I had not you, my. faithful 
Diary, in which to confide my 
every thought, I should indeed be 
greatly, greatly to be pitied. 




EPILOGUE. 

F you have followed me 
thus far, kind readers, 
my thanks are due to 
you for your constancy. 
We must now bid fare- 
well to each other. Not only 
have the Memoirs I so presumptu- 
ously undertook to write degen- 
erated into a diary, but even that 
diary must now give ' place to 
a correspondence, the nature of * 
which will forever remain the 
secret of two individuals. 

If you care to know how this 
came about, grant me your indul- 
gence yet a little longer. 

They left me an unconscion- 
able time to myself that day. It 
had grown dark, and a deathlike 

169 



1 70 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


stillness reigned around. Even 
the most indefatigable songster 
among my birds had ceased 
singing, and, all crouched up, was 
asleep on his perch. How I 
envied the pretty little creature’s 
peace of mind. 

At last I heard the sound of 
footsteps approaching my door, 
the tiny step of my Duphot. 

“Ah, ma chere ! "' she said, 
mournful and reproachful, as she 
came in and bade me go with her 
to my parents. So wild a beating 
of the heart I do not suppose 
anyone has ever experienced as 
that with which I obeyed her 
behest ; it was too agonizing, too 
dreadful. 

Besides papa and mamma, I 
found my brother and sister and 
Baron Schwarzburg. He stood 
up as I came in ; I, too, remained 
standing. Papa began : 

“Paula, your mother and I, not 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


17I 


desiring to incur a second time 
the reproach that the happiness 

of one of our children ” 

“Or what she considers to be 
happiness/’ broke in mamma. 

“Is of less importance to us/’ 
continued papa, “than it should 
be to parents who love their 
children, had therefore given our 
permission to Baron Schwarzburg 
to speak to you before he left. 

It has resulted ” 

“Differently from what we an- 
ticipated,” interpolated mamma. 
'‘And, as I hear, you are agreed 

in the idea ” 

“Or in imagining,” suggested 
mamma. 

“That you are made for each 
other,” said papa. 

To which I said “Yes.” 

“Yes,” repeated the Baron 
Schwarzburg, deeply moved. 

“Well then, if two people are 
really made for each other — a 


172 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


thing which very rarely happens 
—there is but one thing to be 
done. But it remains to be 
proved ; and proof requires time. 
Endurance is the proof ; so you 
must wait.'' 

“VVe will wait," said Schwarz- 
burg. 

‘'Three years," said papa. 

My head turned. I could not 
realize my happiness. So it was 
not, as I had with fear and 
trembling so fully expected to 
hear: "Do it if you will. But 
give up all hope of our consent !" 

"Only three years?" I asked. 

"Not a day less," said mamma. 

And I: “Why, that is nothing! 
We would wait ten years if you 
required it, dearest father and 
mother. We are happy beyond 
everything, and have no other 
wish than " 

"Speak for yourself!" put in 
Bernhard. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. 1 73 


Baron Schwarzburg was looking 
decidedly alarmed, and I asked 
him: “Do you think sp? To wait 
— wait for each other — what could 
be more heavenly?” 

“The shorter, the more heav- 
enly,” he returned. 

Elizabeth, coming up to me, 
had taken me in her arms. “See, 
what a wise, sensible child it is I 
Three years' probation are too 
little for her; she prefers ten. 
Ah, she knows death is easy, but 
marriage is a venture !” 

'‘Do not jest, countess,” inter- 
posed Schwarzburg. “I consent 
to three years — not a day less, 
but not a day more.” His voice 
faltered, but a strong, unswerving 
determination gleamed in his eyes. 

“So it is settled, and so it shall 
remain. A few hours ago,” he 
continued, turning to me, “I had 
counted the happiness that has 
come to me as utterly unattain- 


174 the two countesses. 


able; but now I have known it; 
it is mine, and I hold it fast, as 
fast as I am wont to hold the 
things most precious to me; and 
you are the most precious thing 
of all to me, Paula, and, I well 
know, the most sure.” He took 
my hand, “In three years; but 
then; for life.” * 

“From now; for life.” I could 
say no more. 

He took leave of us all. How 
sweet and natural Elizabeth was 
with him ! Oh, dear sister mine,, 
can I ever thank you enough? 

Only when the door had closed 
upon him, did the consciousness 
of our parting fall with leaden 
weight upon my heart. He had 
gone, and we had scarce — nay, we 
had not even said good-by to each 
other. An unspeakable sense of 
yearning came over me; I fought 
with the tears which choked me. 
No one said a word. 


THE TWO COUNTESSES. ' 175 


Suddenly Bernhard said laugh- 
ingly '‘Why, he has actually 
gone without his hat!” 

All at once it flashed across me 
where it had been left ; and I ran 
to the great drawing room to fetch 
it. To the drawing room they 
came, papa and the baron — and 
how it happened I have not the 
least conception, but the next 
instant I was in the arms of my 
betrothed, pressed close to his 
heart, and he was showering kisses 
upon me — hot, passionate kisses. 

Papa was standing by us; no 
longer the stern papa of the last 
few weeks, but the tender, loving 
one of old, and of all time to 
come. 

I had only to look into his dear 
face to straightway regain my 
former boundless confidence in 
him ; and in the strength of this 
confidence to say : 

"May I write to him, papa?” 


176 THE TWO COUNTESSES. 


“And I to her?” asked 
Schwarzburg. 

Papa hesitated. 

“Why? what for? See ” 

he broke off, sighed, looked at 
us both with strong emotion, 
then with all the loving intonation 
of old came the dear, priceless 
formula : 

'‘Well, do whatever you like.” 


THE END. 




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